Despite Hiram Strong's warning to his employer when they started work on the old Atterson Eighty, that she must expect no profit for this season's, work, the Christmas-tide, when they settled their accounts for the year, proved the young fellow to have been a bad prophet.  
“Why, Hiram, after I pay you this hundred dollars, I shall have a little money left—I shall indeed. And all that corn in the crib—and stacks of fodder¹, beside the barn loft² full, and the roots, and the chickens, and the pork, and the calf——”
 
“Why, Hiram! I'm a richer woman to-day than when I came out here to the farm, that's sure. How do you account for it?”
 
Hiram had to admit that they had been favored beyond his expectations.
 
“If that Pepper man would only come for'ard and say what he was going to do!” sighed Mother Atterson.
 
That was the continual complaint now. As the winter advanced all four of the family bore the option in mind continually. There was talk of the railroad going before the Legislature to ask for the condemnation³ of the property it needed, in the spring.
 
It seemed pretty well settled that the survey along the edge of the Atterson Eighty would be the route selected. And, if that was the case, why did Pepper not try to exercise his option?
 
Mr. Strickland had said that there was no way by which the real estate man's hand could be forced; so they had to abide⁴ Pepper's pleasure.
 
“If we only knew we'd stay,” said Hiram, “I'd cut a few well grown pine trees, while I am cutting the firewood, have them dragged to the mill, and saw the boards we shall need if we go into the celery business this coming season.”
 
“What do you want boards for?” demanded Henry, who chanced to be home over Christmas, and was at the house.
 
“For bleaching⁵. Saves time, room, and trouble. Banking⁶ celery, even with a plow⁷, is not alone old-fashioned, and cumbersome⁸, but is apt to leave the blanched⁹ celery much dirtier.”
 
“But you'll need an awful lot of board for six acres, Hiram!” gasped¹¹ Henry.
 
“I don't know. I shall run the trenches¹² four feet apart, and you mustn't suppose, Henry, that I shall blanch¹⁰ all six acres at once. The boards can be used over and over again.”
 
“I didn't think of that,” admitted his friend.
 
Henry was eagerly interested in his selected studies at the experiment station and college, and Abel Pollock followed his son's work there with growing approval, too.
 
“It does beat all,” he admitted to Hiram, “what that boy has learned already about practical things. Book-farming ain't all flapdoodle, that's sure!”
 
So the year ended—quietly, peacefully, and with no little happiness in the Atterson farmhouse¹³, despite the cloud that overshadowed the farm-title, and the doubts which faced them about the next season's work.
 
They sat up on New Year's eve to see the old year out and the new in, and had a merry evening although there were only the family. When the distant whistles blew at midnight they went out upon the back porch to listen.
 
It was a dark night, for thick clouds shrouded¹⁴ the stars. Only the unbroken coverlet of snow (it had fallen that morning) aided them to see about the empty fields.
 
In the far distance was the twinkle of a single light—that in an upper chamber¹⁵ of the Pollock house. Dickersons' was mantled¹⁶ in shadow, and those two houses were the only ones in sight of the Atterson place.
 
“And I was afraid when we came out here that I'd be dead of loneliness in a month—with no near neighbors,” admitted Mother Atterson. “But I've been so busy that I ain't never minded it——
 
“What's that light, Hiram?”
 
Her cry was echoed by Sister. Behind the bam a sudden glow was spreading against the low-hung clouds. It was too far away for one of their out-buildings to be afire; but Hiram set off immediately, although he only had slippers¹⁷ on, for the corner of the barnyard fence.
 
When he reached this point he saw that one of the fodder stacks in the cornfield was ............