Chapter XX.
The Cow We Bought.
WHEN Dad received £200 for the wheat he saw nothing but success and happiness ahead. His faith in the farm and farming swelled. Dad was not a pessimist—when he had £200.
"Say what they like," he held forth to Anderson and two other men across the rails one evening—"talk how they will about it, there's money to be made at farming. Let a man work and use his head and know what to sow and when to sow it, and he must do well." (Anderson stroked his beard in grave silence; he had had no wheat). "Why, once a farmer gets on at all he's the most independent man in the whole country."
"Yes! once he does!" drawled one of the men—a weird, withered fellow with a scraggy beard and a reflective turn of mind.
"Jusso," Dad went on, "but he must use his head; it 's
