"I don't know about that. He's been acting queer, lately. He was quite frisky when I started off ahead of you this morning, and tried to run away." "You don't say so? Fancy Pete running away! Maybe you'd better tie him." "I will. There's a big stone here. But what are you going to drink? I tell you I won't touch that creek water. I don't believe it's good, the creek's so low." "That's all right. Come on with me." Jed, whose horse showed no signs of straying away, left his steed standing in the middle of a row of corn, while Will fastened Pete to a big boulder, by wrapping the reins around the stone. The elder brother then led the way to the creek, which bordered the corn field, and striding to a spot where some weeping willow trees cast a cool shade, he plunged his hand down in a little pool, and drew up an earthen jug. "What do you say to that?" he asked. "Switchel?" inquired Will "That's what. I made a jug of it this morning when I knew we were coming over to this hot place. That's what made me late, and you got here ahead of me." "Well, pass it over. I'm as dry as a powder horn." "I'll take it first, if you don't mind," remarked Jed, with a smile. "You're so tall, Lanky, that if you got to drinking, all there is in the jug might run down to your feet, and I'd get left." He laughed and, tilting up the jug, drank from the uncorked opening. Switchel, I may explain to my young readers, is a drink much used by farmers, and those who have to work in hot fields often take a jug of it along, especially if they are far from good drinking water. It is composed of molasses, water and ginger, and has a pleasant taste. "Um! I feel better," remarked Jed as he passed the jug to his brother. "Now, Bean-pole, don't take it all. That's got to last until noon, and the day has only begun." "Don't worry. I won't take any more than you did." After the refreshing draught the two brothers rested for a moment in the shade of the willow trees. "Do you know, Will, I'm not much stuck on farming," remarked Jed slowly. "Me either. I don't mind hard work, but there doesn't seem to be much of a prospect here." "You're right. Dad and all of us work hard, but it does not seem to amount to anything. Times are getting harder all the while and even the weather is against us." "It does seem so. But I suppose it would be just as bad if we were in some other business." "Maybe. I wish I could get out of here. I'd like to do something else than farm." "What would be your choice?" "Well," remarked Jed, slowly, while a smile appeared on his face that had grown a bit serious, "I read about a tramp once that was looking for a contract to gather the blossoms on a century plant, that bloomed once in a hundred years. I don't care for anything quite as slow as that, but I would like a job where I could make a bit of money, instead of always paying up back debts." "Yes, poor dad has had bad luck. But maybe better times are coming."