There had been a few warm days; but the ground was not ready for corn plowing, and Hiram was to raise no oats this year. Nor did he give any attention to potatoes or other truck crops. Primarily his job at Sunnyside was to raise corn--with a proper rotation of clover and grains to keep the soil of the farm in arable condition. He had mapped the farm and planned his work of seeding for the year, both on the land that had lain fallow over winter and that already in crops. He did not like the looks of the wheat on the upper twenty acres where the ditching was being done. It had not stooled properly; there were patches where it was winter killed because of the poor drainage. He knew the crop on this piece would scarcely pay for harvesting. And yet he understood that both lime and commercial fertilizer had been used heavily on this acreage before it was seeded the previous September. "The standing water has made the land soggy. You can't grow crops on a sponge--at least, not wheat," he told himself. "The fertility put into the soil for this wheat is still here, or it has evaporated or leached away. Surely the lime has not done all its work in releasing the natural fertility which the soil possesses. This piece should not need liming again for three years. "If I can get this wheat off in time for an ensilage crop--first broadcasting the coarse manure from the cattle pens--I might make a showing on the profit side of the ledger, for this piece, ditching and all, by the next year. Ensilage corn and peas together would make this twenty acres look pretty good." Thus he dreamed. He walked about the other wheat fields. None of the grain was as seriously injured as was that on the twenty-acre piece bordering this much traveled section of the county road. Through a rift in the strip of woodland between the Sunnyside fields and Yancey Battick's place, he saw a lovely plain of green. It looked so very different from his own wheatlands that Hiram ventured across the boundary fence to examine the patch more closely. Here was not more than an acre of level, wheat-covered land. He saw that the grain had been sown very thinly; and yet the plants had stooled so well that, at a little distance, it seemed as though the ground was matted by the grain plants. If this was the red-streaked wheat it must be wonderfully productive. At least, the plant itself was thrifty and lush--far beyond any wheat Hiram Strong had ever seen. Whether it was of the bearded or smooth variety, the grain from such a plant must make a heavy and paying harvest. He looked up suddenly to see Yancey Battick--his face inflamed and gun in hand--bearing down upon him with so savage a demeanor that Hiram confessed himself frightened. CHAPTER XIV YANCEY BATTICK'S STORY "What are you doing there?" demanded Battick, with his gun cocked and the muzzle on a level with Hiram Strong's breast. "Have I got to give you a lesson, too?"