"Very well: then you are both provided. Charlie, you must come down to the Harvest Home, and see 'Up the middle and down again;' Humphrey struggling with his substantial partner, and Miles bringing up the rear with the 'very only little girl he knows who is smaller than him.'" The father's eye rested smiling on his two children as he pictured the sight to himself. "And when may it be?" asked Humphrey. "Father, please settle a day for the harvest to begin." "When the yellow corn is almost brown, you may settle a day for the harvest," answered his father. "I have a reaping-machine this year, and so it will soon be cut when once they begin." "I shall come every day to these fields and see how it is getting on," said Miles. "I know a much quicker way," said Humphrey, jumping down from the gate, and pulling up several ears of corn by the roots. "I shall have them up in the nursery, and see them ripen every day." "Why, you foolish boy," said his father, "you have picked them too soon, they will never ripen now." Humphrey looked ruefully at his ears of corn. "I quite forgot," said he. "They will never ripen now," repeated little Miles, sorrowfully. "Never mind, Miles," said Humphrey, "I will plant them in the sunniest part of our own garden, where the soil is much better than here, and where, I daresay, they will grow much finer and better than if they had been left to ripen with the rest. Perhaps they will thank me some day for having pulled them up out of the rough field, and planted them in such a more beautiful place." "Perhaps they will," breathed little Miles, clasping his hands with pleasure at the idea. Miles was leaning against the gate, looking up admiringly at his brother, and Humphrey was sitting on the topmost bar, with the ears of corn in his hand. "Let us go," said Sir Everard, suddenly; "it is intensely hot here, and I am longing to get under those limes in the next field." The little boys climbed over the gate, and ran on to the indicated spot, followed more leisurely by their elders. Sir Everard and Uncle Charlie threw themselves down on the grass in the shade, and the children, seating themselves by their father, begged for a story. "Sailors are the men for stories," was his answer; "you had better ask your uncle." Uncle Charlie proved a charming story teller. He told them of sharks and crocodiles, of boar-hunting, and of wonderful adventures by land and sea. The children hung on his every word. The shadows grew long, and the sun began to sink over the cornfields, and still they were absorbed in listening, and their father in watching their sparkling eyes and varying countenances. "Come," said Sir Everard at last, jumping up, "no more stories, or we shall be here all night. It is past six, and Virginie will be wondering what has become of us."