"That's right. We did. And you are correct, my boy. But the old Irish Cobbler has made me so much money on my lower land around Plympton, on a three crop rotation, that I cannot get it out of my mind that it ought to work up here." "On Sunnyside we've got to raise corn, we've got to raise silage, and a part of the land should be excellent for grain if properly tilled." "I hear from Miss Pringle that for the last few years the wheat has not been much." "And the crop now in the ground will not be much," grumbled Hiram. "But believe me, Mr. Bronson, I won't put a grain of wheat in the ground next September unless I am pretty positive of a thirty bushel crop." "Sh! Don't let any of these old hardshells around here hear you say that or they'll think you are crazy. They don't average over twenty bushels to the acre, if they do that." "There's one man around here who is going to do better than that unless all signs fail," said Hiram quickly. "Who is he?" "Yancey Battick." "What? Why, that wet, sour land of his isn't fit to grow wheat." "That's all right; but wait a while. Maybe he'll show you something. That is, barring the weather or the Hessian fly." "The weather we cannot control. We can only pray about that," said Mr. Bronson smiling. "But how about the Hessian fly and other insect pests?" "Luck. It's good luck if you don't have 'em and bad if you do," answered Hiram. "Do you know anything about this new one--what they call the English wheat louse?" "Only that he's 'bad medicine,'" Hiram replied. "But I do have faith in one thing to help overcome the ravages of all pests on wheat." "What is that?" "The use of a fertilizer in which nitrate of soda is prominent. The nitrate forces the growth and sometimes that puts the crop ahead of the fly or other vermin. There is not much fast-growing wheat on Sunnyside to-day, Mr. Bronson. Here it is corn-planting time and the wheat is not yet two feet high." "I've seen richer land, Hiram," rejoined the farm owner. "But I don't expect to see much richer around here than Sunnyside will have after a couple of years of your work. I'll supply the money, my boy, if you will supply the brains." "That swells me all up, Mr. Bronson," laughed Hiram, "But I never did claim that all the farm knowledge in the world is under my cap." "No one man or boy ever had too much of that, I can assure you," Mr. Bronson agreed. "But you must feel your responsibility. If Sunnyside is going to be a well tilled and profitable farm, it will come through your personal effort, more than by any other way, Hiram." Hiram Strong felt all this. He had taken a big contract on his shoulders, and he did not overlook that fact for a single waking hour.