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“You are a stranger, I see,” she added.

“Yes, in these parts,” he replied.

“Looking for work?”

He hardly knew what answer to make, so he said, at a venture, “That’s as it happens.” Then he colored a little, for the words seemed foolish to his ears.

“Time’s precious,” said the girl, “so I’ll tell you at once we want help. Our hay MUST be got in while the fine weather lasts.”

“I’ll help you!” Jacob exclaimed, taking his arms from the rail, and looking as willing as he felt.

“I’m so glad! But I must tell you, at first, that we’re not rich, and the hands are asking a great deal now. How much do you expect?”

“Whatever you please?” said he, climbing the fence.

“No, that’s not our way of doing business. What do you say to a dollar a day, and found?”

“All right!” and with the words he was already at her side, taking long strides over the elastic turf.

“I will go on with my mowing,” said she, when they reached the horses, “and you can rake and load with my father. What name shall I call you by?”

“Everybody calls me Jake.”

“`Jake!’ Jacob is better. Well, Jacob, I hope you’ll give us all the help you can.”

With a nod and a light laugh she sprang upon the machine. There was a sweet throb in Jacob’s heart, which, if he could have expressed it, would have been a triumphant shout of “I’m not afraid of her! I’m not afraid of her!”

The farmer was a kindly, depressed man, with whose quiet ways Jacob instantly felt himself at home. They worked steadily until sunset, when the girl, detaching her horses from the machine, mounted one of them and led the other to the barn. At the supper-table, the farmer’s wife said: “Susan, you must be very tired.”

“Not now, mother!” she cheerily answered. “I was, I think, but after I picked up Jacob I felt sure we should get our hay in.”

“It was a good thing,” said the farmer; “Jacob don’t need to be told how to work.”

Poor Jacob! He was so happy he could have cried. He sat and listened, and blushed a little, with a smile on his face which it was a pleasure to see. The honest people did not seem to regard him in the least as a stranger; they discussed their family interests and troubles and hopes before him, and in a little while it seemed as if he had known them always.

How faithfully he worked! How glad and tired he felt when night came, and the hay-mow was filled, and the great stacks grew beside the barn! But ah! the haying came to an end, and on the last evening, at supper, everybody was constrained and silent. Even Susan looked grave and thoughtful.

“Jacob,” said the farmer, finally, “I wish we could keep you until wheat harvest; but you know we are poor, and can’t afford it. Perhaps you could–“

He hesitated; but Jacob, catching at the chance and obeying his own unselfish impulse, cried: “Oh, yes, I can; I’ll be satisfied with my board, till the wheat’s ripe.”

Susan looked at him quickly, with a bright, speaking face. “It’s hardly fair to you,” said the farmer.

“But I like to be here so much!” Jacob cried. “I like–all of you!”

“We DO seem to suit,” said the farmer, “like as one family. And that reminds me, we’ve not heard your family name yet.”

“Flint.”

“Jacob FLINT!” exclaimed the farmer’s wife, with sudden agitation.

Jacob was scared and troubled. They had heard of him, he thought, and who knew what ridiculous stories? Susan noticed an anxiety on his face which she could not understand, but she unknowingly came to his relief.

“Why, mother,” she asked, “do you know Jacob’s family?”

“No, I think not,” said her mother, “only somebody of the name, long ago.”