“Look a-here,” was the answer.  “I’ve been thinking.  The cattle water here.  The creek runs dry in summer, then the cattle has to go to the barnyard and drink at the trough—­has to be pumped for, and hang round for hours after hoping some one will give them some oats, instead of hustling back to the woods to get fat.  Now, two big logs across there would be more’n half the work.  I guess we’ll ask Da to lend us the team to put them logs across to make a drinking-pond for the cattle.  Them cattle is awful on my mind.  Didn’t sleep all night thinking o’ them.  I just hate like pizen to see them walking all the way to the barn in hot weather for a drink—­’tain’t right.”  So Sam waited for a proper chance to “tackle” his father.  It did not come that day, but at breakfast next morning Raften looked straight at Yan across the table, and evidently thinking hard about something, said: 

“Yahn, this yer room is twenty foot by fifteen, how much ilecloth three foot wide will it call fur?”

“Thirty-three and one-third yards,” Yan said at once.

Raften was staggered.  Yan’s manner was convincing, but to do all that in his head was the miracle.  Various rude tests were applied and the general opinion prevailed that Yan was right.

The farmer’s face beamed with admiration for the first time.  “Luk at that,” he said to the table, “luk at that fur eddication.  When’ll you be able to do the like?” he said to Sam.

“Never,” returned his son, with slow promptness.  “Dentists don’t have to figger on ilecloth.”

“Say, Yan,” said Sam aside, “guess you better tackle Da about the dam.  Kind o’ sot up about ye this mornin’; your eddication has softened him some, an’ it’ll last till about noon, I jedge.  Strike while the iron is hot.”

So after breakfast Yan commenced: 

“Mr. Raften, the creek’s running dry.  We want to make a pond for the cattle to drink, but we can’t make a dam without two big logs across.  Will you let us have the team a few minutes to place the logs?”

“It ain’t fur a swimmin’-pond, is it, ye mean?” said Raften, with a twinkle in his eye.

“It would do for that as well,” and Yan blushed.

“Sounds to me like Sam talking through Yan’s face,” added Raften, shrewdly taking in the situation.  “I’ll see fur meself.”

Arrived at the camp, he asked:  “Now, whayer’s yer dam to be?  Thar?  That’s no good.  It’s narrer but it’d be runnin’ round both ends afore ye had any water to speak of.  Thayer’s a better place, a bit wider, but givin’ a good pond.  Whayer’s yer logs?  Thayer?  What—­my seasoning timber?  Ye can’t hev that.  That’s the sill fur the new barrn; nor that—­it’s seasonin’ fur gate posts.  Thayer’s two ye kin hev.  I’ll send the team, but don’t let me ketch ye stealin’ any o’ my seasonin’ timber or the fur’ll fly.”

With true Raften promptness the heavy team came, the two great logs were duly dragged across and left as Yan requested (four feet apart for the top of the dam).