"She's all right, son. A home-grown factory. You go look at her to-morrow. Broom factory. Yessir! Every man jack of us raised a patch of broom corn. We sell it to ourselves or buy it of ourselves, whichever way you like it best; and anybody that wants to make brooms does that little thing. We ship from Upham and divvy up surplus. Every dollar's worth of broom corn draws down one dollar's share of the net profit, and every dollar's worth of labor does just that--no more, no less. It works out--with good faith and fair play." "Hob?" said Johnny. "That's the man." Adam Forbes let his hand rest for a moment on the younger man's shoulder. "Charlie, you and me are all right in our place--but there ain't goin' to be no such place much longer. I reckon we ain't keepin' up with the times. So now you know why I wanted you should go prospectin' with me. Birds of a feather gather no moss." "I judge maybe you're right. We both of us favor Thompson's colt, and that's a fact. Well, I am glad old Hob is making good. We had as good a chance as he did, only he had more sense." "Always did," said Forbes heartily. "But he ain't makin' no big sight of money, if that's what you mean. Just making good. He's not working for Hob Lull especially. He's working for all hands and the cook. Hob always tries to get us to work together, like on a _'cequia_. There's other things--a heap of 'em. We've bought a community threshing machine. Hob has coaxed a lot of 'em into keeping bees. And he's ribbin' us up to try a cannin' factory in a year or two, for tomatoes and fruit. And a creamery, later. Hob is one long-headed young people. We aim to send him to represent for us sometime." Charlie See laughed. "Gosh! I wish you'd hurry up about it, then." But there was no bitterness in his mirth. V "Never pray for rain on a rising barometer." --_Naval Regulations._ "Married men always make the worst husbands." --_The Critic on the Hearth._ "Although, contrary to his custom, he had a lady on his knee, he instructed the young prince in his royal duties." --ANATOLE FRANCE. Lyn Dyer lived with Uncle Dan in a little crowded house. Across the way stood a big lonesome house; there Edith Harkey lived with Daddy Pete. Pete Harkey was a gentle, quiet and rather melancholy old man; Dan Fenderson was a fat, jolly and noisy youth of fifty. In relating other circumstances within the knowledge of the Border it would have been in no degree improper to have put the emphasis on the names of those two gentlemen. But this is "another story"; it is fitting that the youngsters take precedence; Lyn Dyer and Uncle Dan, Edith and her father.