Ted and the Telephone | Page 6

there in the hot sunshine at a task which he had always disliked; but to-day, by a strange miracle, it did not seem to be a task so much as a privilege.
How familiar the scene was! As he approached the group of older men it took him only a second to see where he was needed and he thrust his pitchfork into the swath at his feet with a swing of easy grace.
"Guess you've done this job before," called a man behind him after he had worked for an interval.
"Yes, I have."
"You show it," was the brief observation.
They moved on in silence up the field.
"Where'd you learn to handle that fork, sonny?" another voice shouted, as they neared the farther wall.
"In Vermont," laughed Ted.
"I judged as much," grunted the speaker. "They don't train up farmers of your size in this part of the world."
Ted flushed with pleasure and for the first time he stopped work and mopped the perspiration from his forehead. He was hot and thirsty but he found himself strangely exhilarated by the exercise and the sweet morning air and sunshine. Again he took up his fork and tossed the newly cut grass up into the light, spreading it on the ground with a methodical sweep of his young arm. The sun had risen higher now and its dazzling brilliance poured all about him. Up and down the meadow he went and presently he was surprised to find himself alone near the point from which he had started. His fellow-laborers were no longer in sight. The field was very still and because it was, Ted began to whistle softly to himself.
He was startled to hear a quiet laugh at his elbow.
"Don't you ever eat anything, kid?"
Mr. Wharton was standing beside him, a flicker of amusement in his gray eyes.
"I didn't know it was noon," gasped Ted.
"We'll have to tie an alarm clock on you," chuckled the manager. "The gang stopped work a quarter of an hour ago."
"I didn't notice they had."
The boy flushed. He felt very foolish to have been discovered working there all by himself in this ridiculous fashion.
"I wanted to finish this side of the field and I forgot about the time," he stammered apologetically.
"Have you done it to your satisfaction?"
"Yes, I'm just through."
For the life of him Ted could not tell whether the manager was laughing at him or not. He kicked the turf sheepishly.
"Aren't you tired?" inquired Mr. Wharton at length.
"No--at least--well, I haven't thought about it. Perhaps I am a little."
"And well you may be. You've put in a stiff morning's work. You'd better go and wash up now and eat your lunch. Take your full hour of rest. No matter if the others do get back here before you. Stevens says you are worth any two of them, anyway."
"It's just that I'm used to it," was the modest reply.
"We'll let it go at that," Mr. Wharton returned ambiguously. "And one thing more before you go. You needn't worry about staying on. We can use you one way or another all summer. There'll always be work for a boy who knows how to do a job well."
CHAPTER III
GOING TO HOUSEKEEPING
Thus it came about that Ted Turner began the long, golden days of his summer vacation at the great estates of the Fernalds, and soon he had made himself such an indispensable part of the farming staff that both Mr. Wharton and Mr. Stevens came to rely on him for many services outside of those usually turned over to the men.
"Just step over to the south lot at Pine Lea, Ted, and see if those fellows are thinning the beets properly," Mr. Wharton would say. "I gave them their orders but they may not have taken them in. You know how the thing should be done. Sing out to them if they are not doing the job right."
Or:
"Mr. Stevens and I shall be busy this morning checking up the pay roll. Suppose you have an eye on the hilling up of the potatoes, Ted. Show the men how you want it done and start them at it. I'll be over later to see how it's going."
Frequently, instead of working, the boy was called in to give an opinion on some agricultural matter with which he had had experience.
"We are finding white grubs in the corner of the Pine Lea garden. They are gnawing off the roots of the plants and making no end of trouble. What did you do to get rid of them when you were up in Vermont?"
"Salt and wood ashes worked better than anything else," Ted would reply modestly. "It might not be any good here but we had luck with it at home."
"We can try it, at least. You tell Mr. Stevens what the proportions are and how you applied