CHAPTER VIII 
WE PLAT THE FARM 
On Monday I was out by ten o’clock, armed 
with a surveyor’s chain. Thompson had pro- 
vided a lot of stakes, and we ran the lines, more 
or less straight, in general accord with my sketch 
plan. We walked, measured, estimated, and 
drove stakes until noon. At one o’clock we 
were at it again, and by four I was fit to drop 
from fatigue. Farm work was new to me, and 
I was soft as soft. I had, however, got the 
general lay of the land, and could, by the help 
of the plan, talk of its future subdivisions 
by numerals, —an arrangement that afterward 
proved definite and convenient. We adjourned 
to the shade of the big black oak on the knoll, 
and discussed the work in hand. 
« You cannot finish the cellar before to-morrow 
night,” I said, “because it grows slower as it 
grows deeper; but that will be doing well 
enough. I want you to start two teams plough- 
ing Wednesday morning, and keep them going 
every day until the frost stops them. Let Sam 
take the plough, and have young Thompson 
follow with the subsoiler. Have them stick to 
B 49 
