last half hour, and I've been expecting every minute to see you
dislocate your jaw."

"It's being out in this air all day and doing such a lot of manual
labor," said Tom, as he staggered to his feet.

"Oh, say, I hope you're not doing too much! You know, Tom, you're
not used to farm work." Ralph laid down his pen and blotted the
letter with much deliberation. His pale face, from which the
freckles had faded noticeably during a week of indoor confinement,
wore an expression of deep concern. "And it's not easy, I can
tell you!"

Arthur Cameron chuckled. Though he said nothing, the expression on
his face was one of such utter disbelief that even Tom noticed it
and turned on him, frowning.

"Well, what are you looking at me like that for?" he demanded,
without being able to hide a grin. "Haven't I been exercising?
Haven't I? What have you got to say about it? Didn't I spade up
that old melon-patch and plant sixteen rows of carrots in it, this
afternoon?"

"I never said you didn't, old scout," said Arthur.

"I know you've been working like a cart-horse, Tom," interposed
Ralph, who had hobbled around the fields for the first time that
day, directing the labors of his friends. "You and Art have done
wonders all week, and I'll never be able to thank you enough for
all the help you've given me. It's simply great to have such pals