"Hallo! what are you doing there?" exclaimed the doctor, looking over
the fence at a laborer, at work in one of Harry's fields.
"Ploughing this bit o' ground, sir. Mr. Hall told me to be sure and get
it finished before he came home from the city this afthernoon."
"Nonsense!" replied the doctor, "I was born sometime before my son
Harry; put up your plough, and lay that bit of stone wall yonder; that
needs to be done first."
"I'm thinking Masther Hall won't be afther liking it if I do, sir," said
Pat; "I had my orders for the day's work before masther went to the
city, sir, this morning."
"Pooh, pooh," said the old man, unchaining the horse from the plough,
and turning him loose in the pasture; "young folks _think_ old folks are
fools; old folks _know_ young folks to be so."
Pat eyed the doctor, scratched his head, and began slowly to lay the
stone wall.
"What's _that_ fellow doing over yonder?" said the doctor to Pat.
"Planting corn, yer honor."
"Corn? ha! ha! city farming! Good. Corn? That's just the spot for
potatoes. H-a-l-l-o there! Don't plant any more corn in that spot, John;
it never'll come to anything--never."
"But, Mr. Hall?" said John, hesitatingly, leaning on his hoe-handle.
"Harry? Oh, never mind him. He has seen more ledgers than corn. Corn?
Ha! that's good. You can go cart that load of gravel up the hill. What
a fortunate thing for Harry, that I am here to oversee things. This
amateur farming is pretty play enough; but the way it sinks the money is
more curious than profitable. I wonder, now, if that tree is grafted
right. I'll take off the ligatures and see. That hedge won't grow, I'm
certain; the down-east cedars thrive the best for hedges. I may as well
pull these up, and tell Harry to get some of the other kind;" and the
doctor pulled them up by the roots, and threw them over the fence.