“It sure wouldn't grow alfalfa,” chuckled Hiram to himself one day. “For the water rises here a good deal closer to the surface than four feet, and alfalfa farmers declare that if the springs rise that high, there is no use in putting in alfalfa. Why! I reckon just now the water is within four inches of the top of the ground.” If the river remained so high, and the low ground so saturated with water, he knew, too, that he could not get the six acres plowed in time to put in corn this year. And it was this year's crop he must think about first. Even if Pepper did not exercise his option, and turn Mrs. Atterson out of the place, a big commercial crop of onions, or any other better-paying crop, could only be tried the second year. Hiram had got his seed corn for the upland piece of the man who raised the best corn in the community. He had tried the fertility of each ear, discarded those which proved weakly, or infertile, and his stand of corn for the four acres, which was now half hand high, was the best of any farmer between the Atterson place and town. But this corn was a hundred-and-ten-day variety. The farmer he got it of told him that he had raised a crop from a piece planted the day before the Fourth of July; but it was safer to get it in at least by June fifteenth. And here it was past June first, and the meadow land had not yet been plowed. “However,” Hiram said to Henry, when they walked down to the riverside on Sunday afternoon, “I'm going ahead on Faith--just as the minister said in church this morning. If Faith can move mountains, we'll give it a chance to move something right down here.” “I dunno, Hiram,” returned the other boy, shaking his head. “Father says he'll git in here for you with three head and a Number 3 plow by the middle of this week if you say so--'nless it rains again, of course. But he's afeared you're goin' to waste Mrs. Atterson's money for her.” “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” quoted Hiram, grimly. “If a farmer didn't take chances every year, the whole world would starve to death!” “Well,” returned Henry, smiling too, “let the other fellow take the chances--that's dad's motter.” “Yes. And the 'chancey' fellow skims the cream of things every time. No, sir!” declared the young fellow, “I'm going to be among the cream-skimmers, or I won't be a farmer at all.” So the plow was put into the bottom-land Wednesday--and put in deep. By Friday night the whole piece was plowed and partly harrowed. Hiram had drawn lime for this bottom-land, proposing to use beside only a small amount of fertilizer. He spread this lime from his one-horse wagon, while Henry drag-harrowed behind him, and by Saturday noon the job was done. The horses had not mired at all, much to Mr. Pollock's surprise. And the plow had bit deep. All the heavy sod of the piece was covered well, and the seed bed was fairly level--for corn.