Sarah passed her husband a plate of hot cornbread.  “Why, Tom, it ain’t fitting to talk that way about a neighbor.  Before the children, too.”

Tom poured a generous helping of sorghum molasses over his bread.  “I’m an honest man.  It’s fitting that I call Carter what he is, and he’s a skinflint.  He is only paying Abe and me ten cents a day.”

“Other folks pay you two-bits.”

“I ain’t got any other work right now.  Carter knows I need all the money I can lay my hands on.  The way he beat me down on the price for my south field.”

“I wish you didn’t have to sell.”

“Wishing won’t do any good.  I need cash money mighty bad.  Remember, this farm ain’t paid for yet.”

He got up and walked over to the chest.  He picked up the sharp knife he used for cutting corn.  “Get your knife, Abe, and come along.”

Abe walked behind his father along the path through the woods.  “That Mr. Swaney was right nice,” he said.

Tom grunted.

“He is waiting to start his school until after harvest,” Abe went on.  “Nat Grigsby is going.  Allen Gentry is going, and he is two years older than me.”

“Allen’s pa is a rich man,” said Tom gruffly.  “Maybe he’s got money to burn, but poor folks like us have to earn our keep.”

“But, Pa—­”

“I declare, your tongue is loose at both ends today.  Can’t you stop plaguing me?  First your ma, then you.  You ought to see I’m worried.”

Abe said nothing more.  He pulled a book out of the front of his shirt and began to read as he strode along the path.  Tom looked back over his shoulder.

“Don’t let John Carter catch you with that book.”

“I brought it along so I can read while I eat my dinner.  I’ll put it away before we get to the Carter place.”

“Eddication!” said Tom in disgust “I never had any, and I get along better’n if I had.  Take figuring.  If a fellow owes me money, I take a burnt stick and make a mark on the wall.  When he pays me, I take a dishrag and wipe the mark off.  That’s better than getting all hot and bothered trying to figure.

“And writing?  I can write my name and that’s all the writing I need.  But the most tomfoolery of all is reading.  You don’t see me waste my time reading any books.”

[Illustration]

The path ended at the edge of the woods, and Tom opened the gate into the Carter cornfield.  Row after row of tall corn stretched away in even, straight lines.  Mr. Carter was waiting.

“Ready to sign over that south field, Tom?” he asked.  “A lawyer from Rockport is drawing up the papers.  He is riding up with them this morning.  I’ll see you at dinner time.”

After John Carter had gone back to his cabin, Tom and Abe set to work.  Using their sharp knives, they began cutting the corn close to the ground.  They stood the tall golden stalks on end, tying them together in neat shocks or bundles.  By the time the sun stood directly overhead, several long rows had been cut and stacked, and John Carter was coming toward them across the field.  It was noon.