"For the land's sake!" exclaimed Mr. Bronson, quoting Miss Pringle, but looking puzzled, too. "Exactly. For the land's sake. For the improvement of that twenty acres--or such of it as needs draining." "But--Hiram--my dear fellow--" "I am not starting something that I cannot put over, Mr. Bronson," laughed Hiram. "Nor is it a brand new idea of my own. I have seen timber in the rough employed in underdraining more than once. My father used to do it when the man who owned the farm father worked would not listen to the expense of tiles." "Ha! I acknowledge the corn," replied Mr. Bronson. "I am not criticising you, Mr. Bronson. You are preparing this farm for a sale. You wish to put it in as good shape as possible at as small expense as possible." "Right, young man." "So we will put in a drain that will answer every purpose of tiling for a few years. In very low, wet ground logs laid in a ditch, and covered, will last twenty years--sometimes forty. On this upland the life of the timber I mean to use will not be so long." "But it is fire-killed." "That makes no difference. I've been over there and looked at it. You couldn't knock any of those trees down. The fire went through there only last year. They are not punky." "I suppose not." "And we shall be killing two birds with one stone--getting cheap drainage and likewise wiping out a very ugly spot right across the road from your new house." "That is so. And you are getting the timbers cheap enough, if they are any good. I wouldn't have had the heart to offer Miss Pringle such a price." "It is more than anybody else would have given her," Hiram declared, smiling. "And it is worth all you are paying for it to have those unsightly sticks chopped down." "Guess you are right, Hiram." "The logs will serve the purpose we want them for very well indeed. We'll lay two in the bottom of the ditch, six inches or so apart, and a third log on top to cover the aperture. Earth packed down upon them will soon form a firm culvert into which all the superfluous water will drain. "I'll put a man into Miss Pringle's patch with an axe and soon knock down everything that is standing. The whole patch will be covered with green by midsummer." "Smart boy, Hiram!" exclaimed Mr. Bronson. "Will you snake the logs right across the road into the wheat field?" "As soon as the ditches are begun and you send up that pair of Percherons you promised me. I can't do that work with Jerry." "You shall have the Percherons in a few days. They are a well mated pair and young. By the way, your disc-plow, harrow, check-row planter, and the mowing machine are on the siding at Pringleton. I'll send a truck over for them tomorrow. We don't want any demurrage charges piling up on us." "Good! I want to see those things on the big floor of the barn," cried Hiram, his eyes beaming. "I'd better send up a machinist to help you set them up, hadn't I?"