"Now, now, mother, you're all wrong in this matter," said her son, going over and taking her in his arms. "I'm not doing this simply because I love Betsy Atwood but because it's good business, and, besides, I want to make her life pleasant. It's the modern idea, mother; it's the right way to do, and I think John White is right. The reason farmers' boys and girls refuse to stay on the old farm is on account of the few amusements they get. Don't you worry about the sheriff selling me out, for if I live I can easily make a go of it, and if I should die suddenly, I've a $10,000.00 life insurance policy in the Farmers' Mutual that will pay off the mortgage and leave something for Bettie besides. Of course, it cost something to take out a policy of $10,000.00; everything of value costs, but an insurance policy that pays off the mortgage, if I happen to die, relieves me of all worry. It would have been a risk without insurance, but I feel safe now." IX POWER AND BANKING Everything was hustle and bustle on the farm on Monday morning, March twenty-seventh, for this was to be Joe Williams' wedding day. Bob was up at daylight, milked his cows and finished his chores before breakfast. At nine o'clock his Uncle Joe and grandparents left for town, where they would take the ten o'clock train to Greensburg, where the wedding was to be solemnized at noon. As previously arranged, Bob stayed on the farm to look after things and finish plowing the ten-acre field adjoining the barn, which had been started two days before. It was scarcely nine-thirty when he turned and started back along the north side of the field. He glanced in the direction of the barn and beheld an unusual sight. A small automobile had been driven into the barnyard and close behind it came the most unusual looking piece of machinery he had ever seen. He stopped his team and stood leaning on the plow, wondering what it might be. The driver of the automobile, whom he recognized as John White, president of the First National Bank, jumped from the car and opened the gate of the field in which Bob was plowing and a moment later the machine entered. It crossed the ground he had already plowed on the west side of the field and entered the furrow; then swung around with its side toward him. He now recognized the apparatus--it was a tractor gang plow, and as it went along, he saw it was throwing up three furrows at a time. As he watched it go he could not help noticing how much faster it moved than his team of horses was capable of doing. He was so lost in admiration of the speed and ease with which the plow did its work that he did not notice the banker coming toward him until he stood beside him. "Well, what do you think of that, Bob, for a plow?" asked the banker laughing.