GLEAM. iy 



The wheat was already sown, twenty acres of it. 

 But potatoes were not dug, nor corn husked, nor 

 buckwheat threshed. The orchard was now yielding 

 well, and the apples were to be gathered and 

 marketed. As we worked we discussed the future. 

 Will agreed that for him and me our father's plans 

 must be given up. He assented more easily than I 

 had expected, but I think he did not fully realize 

 what the giving up those plans meant for our whole 

 lives. He was a year younger than I, and he had 

 not been waked up by two years at college. Our 

 farm was well located on a gentle rise sloping to the 

 east and south. Through its southern and western 

 parts ran a good-sized creek, one of the feeders of 

 the Muskegon river. Twenty acres of the land 

 along the creek had never been cleared, and both up 

 and down the creek this forest extended far beyond 

 the limits of our farm. Our fields and fences, 

 orchard and buildings were all in good condition, 

 and it was a real delight to push forward our work 

 during the fine days of the last of September and 

 the first of October. The potatoes were not an 

 average yield, the season in July had been a little 

 too dry and hot for them. But the corn yielded 

 largely, and the buckwheat gave an excellent crop. 

 But our principal labor and pleasure were in the 

 orchard. This had been father's special pride. He 

 had procured the best varieties of apples adapted to 



