The harvest time in Ontario is ever a season of delightful rush and bustle. The fall wheat follows hard upon the haying, and close upon the fall wheat comes the barley, then the oats and the rest of the spring grain.
It was this year to be a more than usually busy time for the Boyle boys. They had a common purse, and out of that purse the payments on the mortgage must be met, as well as Dick's college expenses.
For the little farm, with the profits from the mill, could do little more than provide a living for the family. Ordinarily the lads worked for day's wages, the farmers gladly paying the highest going, for the boys were famous binders and good workers generally.
This year, however, they had in mind something more ambitious.
"Mother," said Dick, "did you hear of the new harvesting gang?"
"And who might they be?" asked his mother, always on the lookout for some nonsense from her younger son.
"Boyle and Fallows--or Fallows and Boyle, I guess it will be.
Ben's starting with us Monday morning."
"Nonsense, laddie. There will be no reaping for Ben this year, I doubt, poor fellow; and, besides, I will be needing him for myself."
"Yes. But I am in earnest, mother. Ben is to drive the reaper for us. He can sit on the reaper half a day, you know. At least, his doctor here says so. And he will keep us busy."
"If I cawn't keep the two of you a-humpin', though you are some pumpkins at bindin', I hain't worth my feed."
"But, Barney," remonstrated his mother, "is he fit to go about that machine? Something might happen the lad."
"I don't think there is any danger, mother. And, besides, we will be at hand all the time."
"And what will two lads like you do following the machine all day?
You will only be hurting yourselves."
"You watch us, mother," cried Dick. "We'll be after Ben like a dog after a coon."
"Indeed," said his mother. "I have heard that it takes four good men to keep up to a machine. It was no later than yesterday that Mr. Morrison's Sam was telling me that they had all they could do to follow up, the whole four of them."
"Huh!" grunted Dick scornfully, "I suppose so. Four like Fatty Morrison and that gang of his!"
"Hush, laddie. It is not good to be speaking ill of your neighbours," said his mother.
"It's not speaking ill to say that a man is fat. It's a very fine compliment, mother. Only wish someone could say the same of me."
"Indeed, and you would be the better of it," replied his mother compassionately, "with your bones sticking through your skin!"
It was with the spring crop that Ben Fallows began his labours; and much elevated, indeed, was he at the prospect of entering into partnership with the Boyle boys, who were renowned for the very virtues which poor Ben consciously lacked and to which, in the new spirit that was waking in him, he was beginning to aspire. For the weeks spent under Barney's care and especially in the atmosphere of the Mill household had quickened in Ben new motives and new ambitions. This Barney had noticed, and it was for Ben's sake more than for their own that the boys had associated him with them in their venture of taking harvesting contracts. And as the summer went on they found no reason to regret the new arrangement. But it was at the expense of long days and hard days for the two boys following the reaper, and often when the day's work was done they could with difficulty draw their legs home and to bed. Indeed, there were nights when Dick, hardly the equal of his brother in weight and strength, lay sleepless from sheer exhaustion, while Barney from sympathy kept anxious vigil with him. Morning, however, found them stiff and sore, it is true, but full of courage and ready for the renewal of the long-drawn struggle which was winning for them not only very substantial financial profits, but also high fame as workers. The end of the harvest found them hard, tough, full of nerve and fit for any call within the limit of their powers. It was Ben who furnished the occasion of such a call being made upon them. A rainy day found him at the blacksmith shop with the Mill team waiting to be shod. The shop was full of horses and men. A rainy day was a harvest day for the blacksmith. All odd jobs allowed to accumulate during the fine weather were on that day brought to the shop.
Ben, with his crutch and his wooden leg, found himself the centre of a new interest and sympathy. In spite of the sympathy, however, there was a disposition to chaff poor Ben, whose temper was brittle, and whose tongue took on a keener edge as his temper became more uncertain. Withal, he had a little man's tendency to brag. To-day, however, though conscious of the new interest centring in him, and though visibly swollen with the importance of his new partnership with the Boyle boys, he was exhibiting a dignity and self-control quite unusual, and was, for that very reason, provocative of chaff more pungent than ordinary.
Chief among his tormenters was Sam Morrison, or "Fatty" Morrison, as he was colloquially designated. Sam was one of four sons of "Old King" Morrison, the richest and altogether most important farmer in the district. On this account Samuel was inclined to assume the blustering manners of his portly, pompous, but altogether good-natured father, the "Old King." But while bluster in the old man, who had gained the respect and esteem that success generally brings, was tolerated, in Sammy it became ridiculous and at times offensive. The young man had been entertaining the assembled group of farmers and farm lads with vivid descriptions of various achievements in the harvest field on the part of himself or some of the members of his distinguished family, the latest and most notable achievement being the "slashing down and tying up" of a ten-acre field of oats by the four of them, the "Old King" himself driving the reaper.
"Yes, sir!" shouted Sammy. "And Joe, he took the last sheaf right off that table! You bet!"
"How many of you?" asked Ben sharply.
"Just four," replied Sammy, turning quickly at Ben's unexpected question.
