Tomorrow's Harvest 351 



horse owner in line was Peyton. The colt, Stardust, was en- 

 tered. The odds against her were forty to one. 



Of course, by all the laws of morality, it should not have 

 happened that way at all. But Nature, I repeat, is not inter- 

 ested in morality or in laws. Her business is production. It 

 may be she smiled when the bay two-year-old, driven by a 

 twelve-year-old boy, won the Free-For-All by three seconds. 



Peyton and Wynne were very quiet on the drive home. 

 Peyton hid his half of the winnings and the prize money in 

 the barn. It seemed wiser not to say anything about what had 

 happened in Charlottesville. Anyway, not until Thursday, 

 when the county newspaper would be out with a full account 

 of the Fair. 



But it was only Monday when a strange man drove up to 

 the house and told the house servant he had come to see 

 Mr. Locker. 



"It's about that bay two-year-old of his that won the race 

 over to Charlottesville last week." 



Mr. Locker and his son spent a long time together in the 

 office. There was no need to close the door. Mrs. Locker was 

 upstairs, in tears. On the office desk was the roll of bills 

 Peyton had brought from the haymow. His father said slowly, 

 "Three hundred dollars'll go a long way toward paying for 

 you at V.M.I. It seems like you're not cut out for a farming 

 life. But I don't know how you'll ever make this up to your 

 mother." 



Peyton was wondering about that, too. During the five 

 days before he was to start for V.M.I, he was "on bounds," 

 forbidden to leave the veranda. From his perch there he 

 could hear his mother talking to Cousin Lulie Buchanan. "I 

 don't know. Lulie, I did my best with the boy. But some- 

 where I must have made a mistake. I don't know just what 

 it was . . ." 



Three years of partnership with Nature had taught Peyton 

 many things. He spoke quietly over his shoulder, "The only 

 mistake you made, Mamma, was the kind of dog Sally is. If 



