When Randy went to work for Farmer Borden he came into contact with the farmer's son Sammy, a tall, overgrown lad of fourteen, with a freckled face and a shock of red hair. Sammy hated to work, and his father and mother had to fairly drive him to get anything out of him. "City folks don't work like farmers," remarked Sammy to Randy. "They jest lay off an' take it easy." "How do you know that?" asked our hero, in quiet amusement. "'Cos I once read a paper of the sports in the city." "Some rich folks don't work, Sammy. But all the others work as hard as we do." "I don't believe it," said Sammy, stoutly. "Wish I was a city lad. Oh, wouldn't I jest have the bang-up time, though!" "Sammy Borden!" cried his mother, shrilly. "You get to work, an' be quick about it." "I'm tired," answered the freckled-faced lad. "Tired? Lazy, you mean! Git to work, or I'll have your paw give you a dressin' down!" "Drat the luck!" muttered Sammy, as he took up his pitchfork. "I wish I was born in the city!" "Come on, Sammy," said Randy. "The work has got to be done, so don't think about it, but do it." "Huh! Work is easy to you, Randy Thompson! But it comes hard on me!" And Sammy heaved a ponderous sigh. The haying was in full blast early in July and Randy worked early and late. He wanted to get through, so that he might go at his own garden. Sammy dragged worse than ever, and finally confided to our hero that he wanted to go to the city over the Fourth. "Have you asked your folks yet?" asked Randy. "No, but I'm a-goin' to," answered Sammy. "Well, if you go, I hope you have a good time," said our hero. "I'd like to see a Fourth of July in the city myself. I've heard they make a good deal of noise, but I shouldn't mind that." "Gosh! I love shootin'," said Sammy. "Aren't you afraid you might get lost?" pursued Randy. "Lost!" snorted Sammy. "Not much! Why, you can't lose me in the woods, much less in the city." "The city and the woods are two different places." "I don't care. I'd know what I was doin'." "It costs money to go to the city." "I want to go to Springfield." "Have you any money saved up?" To this Sammy did not answer. Then Mr. Borden came along. "Sammy, get to work!" he called out. "Don't let Randy do everything." "I was workin'," grumbled the son, as he started in again. "You can't expect a feller like me to pitch hay all day long." "I have to work all day," retorted his father. "It ain't fair nohow." "If you want to eat you'll have to work." Sammy pitched in, but grumbled a good deal to himself. Soon his mother called him and he went off to the house. "That lad is gettin' lazier every day," said Jerry Borden. "I declare, I don't know what to do with him." "Maybe he needs a vacation," suggested our hero. "Well, he can't have one until the hayin' is done," declared the farmer. CHAPTER X SAMMY'S FOURTH OF JULY