IN DAKOTA, 37 
a contract for my fall plowing, 180 acres, at $1.50 
an acre, total, $270. I had sold part of my wheat to 
raise this amount, and had about 200 bushels left, 
which would bring, at 95 cents, $190. Then there 
were my oats in stack, perhaps 1500 bushels. After 
keeping out what I would be compelled to have for 
my stock, and paying expenses of threshing, I might — 
realize for these about $400. I migiit possibly be 
able to sell a couple of cows and a horse, and thus 
realize $200 more. But all this would give me less 
than half the amount necessary to save my farm. 
That evening my wife and [ held a long consulta- 
tion, and resolved to turn Our wheat and oats into 
cash immediately, and sell what stock’ we could. If 
we could not save the farm the money would, of 
course, be needed. Notwithstanding the gloomy out- 
look, my wife was brave and hopeful. 
‘* We will save this farm yet,” she said. 
“Tf faith and courage could do it, you’ve got 
enough to save a dozen such farms,” I answered, 
‘but, unfortunately, these are not legal tenders with 
Richard Bragdon.” 
NINE HUNDRED DOLLARS SHORT. 
Next day I went over to the village—which for 
convenience we will hereafter call Kingston, though 
that was not its real name—to see what was the best 
offer I could get for wheat and oats. A new eleva- 
tor had just been completed there, and I found the 
proprietor, Mr. White, ready for business. The cars 
