"He's mighty good at turnip hoeing, too," he said. "I could pretty near
keep up to him last year and I believe I could do it this year. Some
day soon I'm going to git after 'im. My! I'd like to trim 'im to a fine
point."
The live stock on the farm in general, and the young colts in
particular, among which a certain two-year-old was showing signs of
marvellous speed, these and cognate subjects relating to the farm, its
dwellers and its activities, Tim passed in review, with his own shrewd
comments thereon.
"And what do you play, Tim?" asked Cameron, seeking a point of contact
with the boy.
"Nothin'," said Tim shortly. "No time."
"Don't you go to school?"
"Yes, in fall and winter. Then we play ball and shinny some, but there
ain't much time."
"But you can't work all the time, Tim? What work can you do?"
"Oh!" replied Tim carelessly, "I run a team."
"Run a team? What do you mean?"
Tim glanced up at him and, perceiving that he was quite serious,
proceeded to explain that during the spring's work he had taken his
place in the plowing and harrowing with the "other" men, that he
expected to drive the mower and reaper in haying and harvest, that, in
short, in almost all kinds of farm work he was ready to take the place
of a grown man; and all this without any sign of boasting.
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