“Every one of you who planted a seed and cared for it has reaped the reward of seeing it multiply at a rate possible in no other business. Nature is the grand prize giver. Every farmer ought to consider himself a partner with Nature--with God. Men give you for the use of a dollar for one year four cents, possibly five or six cents; Nature gives us for a dollar’s worth of seed as high as a thousand and two thousand per cent. There isn’t a family in this village who planted a garden last spring who hasn’t been paid by Nature in produce representing good hard cash the wages of a skilled artisan. We’ve had all we wanted to eat, some of us have put away enough for the winter and over and above that we have sold in garden stuff alone thirty-eight hundred dollars’ worth. And that doesn’t represent the sum total of our products by a good deal. So I insist that we’ve all won richer prizes than any offered here to-day. And with the knowledge we’ve gained this year I look to see this result doubled next year. I look to see our farms grow better and better with good care; I look to see our orchards improve; I look to see us raise all our own beef and mutton and pork and the grain to feed the stock upon. I look to see us do all our hardy ancestors did and with opportunities such as they never dreamed of wax so prosperous that men in the business world outside will be forced to reckon with us and give us the position that is our right--abreast of the leaders in the productive enterprises of the world. This bit of extra money here, in spite of all that Mr. Holt would have us believe, doesn’t represent our goal. We’ve attained that already, and this is only just so much more pin money. We’ve proven as individuals, we’ve proven as a club, we’ve proven as a town, that farming can be made to pay. To prove that is to have received our pay.” I didn’t want any soreness left as a result of disappointed hopes and so when I heard my words received with shouts and handclapping and smiling faces I was very glad. I reached for the first sealed envelope and tore it open. The noise subsided until you could have heard a pin drop. “For the best crop of hay on one acre of fresh broken land the prize is one hundred dollars in cash. It gives me pleasure to announce that this has been awarded to Horatio L. Harrison.” I saw Harrison’s face. It went white, then red. A good many other faces went white, too, and for a second there was an ominous silence. Then Holt sprang to the front of the platform. “Fellow citizens,” he shouted, “let’s give three cheers for Harrison. Now--hurrah!” Perhaps fifty voices joined him. At the second hurrah a hundred came in, while at the third the whole crowd let themselves loose in a fashion that was good to hear. “Tiger,” shouted Holt.