The path ended at the edge of the woods, and Tom opened the gate into the Carter cornfield. Row after row of tall corn stretched away in even, straight lines. Mr. Carter was waiting. "Ready to sign over that south field, Tom?" he asked. "A lawyer from Rockport is drawing up the papers. He is riding up with them this morning. I'll see you at dinner time." After John Carter had gone back to his cabin, Tom and Abe set to work. Using their sharp knives, they began cutting the corn close to the ground. They stood the tall golden stalks on end, tying them together in neat shocks or bundles. By the time the sun stood directly overhead, several long rows had been cut and stacked, and John Carter was coming toward them across the field. It was noon. Abe laid aside his knife, sat down on the rail fence, and pulled out his book. He took a piece of cornbread wrapped in a corn husk from his pocket. As he ate, he read, paying no attention to the conversation taking place a few feet away. "Come and sit down, Tom," said Carter. Tom sat on a tree stump. Carter was being more friendly than usual. He was carrying a gourd full of ink, which he placed on another stump. He set down a deerskin bag, which jingled pleasantly with coins. In one pocket he found a turkey-buzzard pen. From another he brought out an official-looking paper. "Here is the deed for the south field," he explained. "Here's a pen. I'll hold the ink for you. You make your mark right here." "I don't need to make my mark," said Tom proudly. "I know how to sign my name." "Then hurry up and do it. Mrs. Carter has dinner ready, and I got to get back to the house." Tom took the paper and looked at it uncertainly. "I don't sign any paper till I know what I'm signing. I want time to--to go over this careful like." He could make out a few of the words, and that was all. But not for anything would he admit that he could not read it. "You told me you wanted to sell," said Carter. "I said I would buy. I am keeping my part of the bargain. I even brought the money with me." Tom's face grew red. He looked down at the paper in his hand. He glanced at Abe seated on the fence. A struggle was taking place between pride and common sense. Common sense won. "Abe, come here," he called. Abe went on reading. Tom raised his voice. "Abe! When I tell you to come, I mean for you to come." The boy looked up from his book with a start. "Yes, Pa. Did you want me?" "Hustle over here and look at this paper. Carter is in a mighty big hurry for me to sign something I ain't had a chance to read." "You have had plenty of time to read it," said Carter. "But if you don't want to sell, I can call the whole deal off." Abe reached out a long arm and took the paper. He read it slowly. "Pa," he asked, "don't you aim to sell Mr. Carter just the south field?" "You know I'm selling him just the south field," said Tom. "Then don't sign this."