With every toss of his fork he covered with earth the little piles of straw and ordure which Mr. Tomkins had spread on the ground. As he advanced in this manner, small flocks of sparrows rose before him, and flew away with dissatisfied cries. "Come," he said to them, "the world does not belong to you. I believe you have never read the works of Epictetus, who says, 'true education lies in learning to distinguish what is ours, from what does not belong to us.' However, you have a more modern spirit; for you believe that whatever you see belongs to you, providing you are able to get hold of it." He was happy; in the warm, noon-day drowse, he felt, like Abraham, the grace of God within him, and found even in the humblest sparrow enough to afford him an opportunity to discuss morals with himself. "There'll be potatoes," said Mr. Tomkins, "enough to last all winter for the two of us. That's riches, Jeminy; where's your talk now of the world being poor?" "Some of these potatoes," said Mr. Jeminy, bending over, "are rotted from the wet weather." "To-morrow," said Mr. Tomkins, "I'll borrow a harrow from Farmer Barly. And next spring I'll plant corn here on the hill. Table corn, that is. Then we'll have a corn-husking, Jeminy; you and I, and the rest of the young ones." And he burst out laughing, in his high, cracked voice. "Do you remember the last corn-husking?" asked Mr. Jeminy. "It was in the autumn before the war. Anna Barly and Alec Stove lost themselves in the woods. And Elsie Cobbler burned her fingers. How she cried and carried on; Anna came running back, to see what it was all about. But before the evening was over, she was off again, with Noel Ploughman." Mr. Tomkins nodded his head. Timid in the presence of Mr. Jeminy's books, he was happy and hearty in his own potato patch. "I remember," he said. "I remember more than you do, Jeminy. I can look back to the first husking bee I ever was at. That was in '62. A year later I shouldered a gun, and went off with the drafts of '63. Your speaking of Noel put me in mind of it. "When I got home again," he continued, "there was nothing for me to do. In those days folks did their own work. Then there was time for everything. But the days are not as long as they used to be when I was young. Now there's no time for anything. "But Noel was a good man. He was handy, and amiable. He could lay a roof, or mend a thresher, it was all the same to him. What do you think, Jeminy? Anna Barly won't forget him in a hurry--heh?" "No," said Mr. Jeminy; "no, Anna won't forget him in a hurry. That is as it should be, William. She believes that she has suffered. And if she fools herself a little, I, for one, would be inclined to forgive her." "She won't fool herself any," said Mr. Tomkins; "not Anna. Wait and see."