"But it must take an awful lot of work." "Of course it takes work. Don't you remember Mr. Rivers told you that there would be no chance to loaf? You'll start on that toughening process soon enough, all right, all right." Turning a corner of a hallway, Mitchon and the boy passed into a small office, which was undergoing the throes of the annual tidying-up before being left alone all through the summer. "Mr. Field," said the secretary, as he entered, "this is Roger Doughty, of whom I was speaking to you, who is to go out with you for a couple of weeks until Roberts comes back from the tule swamps and rejoins your party. You will have just about the same men as last year, will you not?" The swamp surveyor extended a large loose-jointed hand to Roger. "Glad to see you, Mr. Doughty," he said, and then, in answer to the secretary's question, continued, "I hope we do have the same men, Mr. Mitchon, it makes the work a lot lighter." "That's what you all say; but it doesn't make so much difference to you as it does to the parties away off from civilization, does it?" "Well," drawled the other, "Minnesota's civilization in that swamp country doesn't hurt her much yet, I reckon. When you're eleven miles away from the nearest road, and that only a 'corduroy,' in a swamp over which you can't take a horse, and through which you can't take a boat, you begin to think that other human beings live a thundering way off. Why," he said, "I've seen parts of that swamp so soft that we'd have to make a sort of platform of brush and three or four of us pull out one chap who had sunk below his waist, and that with only half a pack instead of the full load. No," he added, turning to Roger, "Minnesota's not so powerful civilized if it comes to that!" "Why, I hadn't any idea that it was so wild! Is there much of that swamp?" asked the boy. "Well, the little piece of land we're working on now contains about 2,500,000 acres." "That's the Chippewa land, isn't it?" asked the secretary. "Yes, all of it." "What's Chippewa land?" queried Roger. "It's land the Chippewa Indians ceded to the government to be held in trust and disposed of for their own benefit. It's worth just about nothing now, but when the land is all drained it'll be a mighty valuable section of the State." "I saw a report on the crops from some of that reclaimed land," said Mitchon, "and it certainly was calculated to make the worked-out Eastern farms sit up. Well, I suppose I must get back, so I'll wish you good luck, Roger, if I don't see you again. You start soon, do you not, Mr. Field?" "To-morrow morning." "So soon? That means hustling." "No, Mr. Mitchon, everything's ready, I reckon." "Well," replied the other, "I hope you'll have a pleasant summer, and, Roger, you write and let me know how you like it. Good-by." But he had hardly gone three or four steps from the door when he turned back suddenly and said, "By the way, Roger, there's something I wish you would do for me."