"Go at him, Roger!" he cried. "You're th' stuff!"

Then suddenly Adrian's body stiffened out. His arms that had been limp became rigid. From tilting backward he straightened up. He twisted his neck from the crook of Roger's arm, grabbed his cousin by the shoulders, shifted rapidly on his feet, and, with a quick push, sent Roger over backward, pinning him squarely upon his back on the sod.

"A fair fall! A fair fall!" cried Mr. Kimball, dancing about like a youngster himself. "I thought ye had him, Roger, but he fooled ye. Guess ye'll hev t' eat a leetle mite more, 'fore ye kin throw him," and the farmer chuckled in delight.

Roger got up from the ground. He was smiling slightly, but there was a determined look on his face that was good to see, for it showed he had met defeat bravely, and was not daunted by it.

"That's one," he said, breathing a trifle hard. "Maybe I'll do better next time. Are you ready?" and he stood waiting for another trial.

"What! Do you want to go at it again?" asked Adrian, somewhat surprised.

"Of course," answered Roger. "And if you throw me this time I'll try once more, and then to-morrow, and next day, and the next, until I've thrown you!"

"That's th' way t' talk!" exclaimed Mr. Kimball. "That's what I like t'

hear. Never say die!" and he capered about as wild as a boy.

"Paw, how you talk!" said Mrs. Kimball. "Them boys sha'n't ra.s.sal any more t'night. Adrian, I'm s'prised at ye, throwin' yer cousin that has jest come out t' see ye."

"Oh, he's game, mother. He don't care," replied Adrian, smiling, and much pleased at Roger's pluck. "But we won't try any more falls right away," he added. "I'll give you another chance, though, Roger."

"Wa'al, I guess thet's th' best view t' take," said Mr. Kimball. "Ye know ye come out here t' Cardiff, Roger, t' git fattened up, 'n' ye won't do thet ef ye keep on ra.s.salin'. I guess I'll declare a flag a'

truce. Now mind," and his voice became stern, "no more ra.s.salin' 'til I give ye leave. Ef ye want t' ra.s.sal, Ade, ye'll hev t' take on some un else."

"All right, dad," replied Adrian, good naturedly.

Roger said nothing, but he made up his mind that, though the contest was postponed for a while, he would not rest until he had thrown his cousin in a fair struggle. For the time, however, he was satisfied to wait.

"Come on 'n' wash up fer supper!" cried Mr. Kimball, as the boys were putting on their coats. "Land a' Goshen, I'm 's hungry 's th' b'ar what sees his shadder on Candlemas Day. Come on, Roger, 'n' I'll interduce ye t' yer cousin Clara, 'n' let ye set yer teeth in some a' th' finest salt-risin' bread in Cardiff, 'n' th' best buckwheat honey growed in Onondaga County," and he started for the house, followed by the two boys and Mrs. Kimball, who began to ask Roger a score of questions about his father and mother and the baby, which the boy answered as best he could.

For the first time since he had alighted from the stage Roger had a chance to look about him. The comfortable large farmhouse, painted white with green shutters, stood on the east side of the road, which ran along the edge of the beautiful Onondaga valley. Behind the house rose a gently sloping hill, on the sunny declivities of which was a large vineyard, belonging to Mr. Kimball. In front of the house was a stretch of fields, forming the bottom part of the valley, and some of these broad acres belonged to Adrian's father. The valley was about three miles wide, and, if one should walk across that s.p.a.ce he would come to the opposite hills that framed it in, towering up, with densely wooded sides, broken here and there with little farm clearings. It was a most pleasant place to live, Roger thought. He paused for a minute, and turned to look at the view behind him.

The sun was just sinking down behind the topmost trees of the western hills, and the slanting beams, sifting through the red and yellow leaves of the autumn forest, caused the woods to appear as if they were blazing with golden fire. The beauty of the sunset made all pause to look at it, and Roger was sure he had never before seen such a happy, calm, peaceful valley as the one in the centre of which nestled the village of Cardiff.

The Kimball house was of the large roomy kind the early farmers built, with tall white pillars supporting the roof of the front porch, on top of which was a balcony. A gravel driveway pa.s.sed along the south side of the building leading to the barn in the rear. Instead of going in the front door, which was, as is usual in the country, seldom opened, Mr.

Kimball led the way around the side. Roger, following, heard the splash of running water, and, turning the corner, he saw a pipe spouting a sparkling stream which fell into a big basin, chiselled out of a single solid stone. This was right at the side door of the house.

"Thar!" exclaimed Mr. Kimball, "thar, Roger, you'll find thet th' best water in th' State. Nothin' like it at Saratogy er New York City. It comes from a spring right up thar on my hill, 'n' we're th' fust family t' git it, jest 's it bubbles up from th' ground. Here!" taking down the half of an empty cocoanut sh.e.l.l, which served as a dipper, "here, sample it," and he let the spout fill the brown vessel with the babbling, laughing water.

Roger drank deep of the refreshing liquid, for he was thirsty from the long drive, and, when he handed back the empty dipper, with a grateful breath of contentment, his uncle needed no better evidence that the water was good, as indeed any one who has been to Cardiff and tasted of it will bear witness.

Now there was the flutter of a red dress in the doorway, and Roger looked up to meet the gaze of a pretty, brown-eyed girl, whose flushed cheeks took on a deeper color as she smiled at the boy.

"That's him, Clara," called out Adrian. "That's him, 'n' I threw him, too."

"Thet's your cousin Clara," put in Mr. Kimball. "I guess ye never seen her before, 'cause th' last time yer mother were here, Clara wa'n't born yit, 'n' I vum, ye was such' a leetle chap, thet it were hard work t'

locate ye, in yer long dresses," and he laughed heartily at the remembrance.

Clara held out her hand, which Roger shook warmly. She was a girl of fourteen, and was almost as large as Roger. He thought her one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen.

"I'm so glad you got here safely," she said. "I suppose Ade made you wrestle as soon as you got off the stage. I believe he would rather roll in the dirt that way than eat," and she glanced at her brother, who was turning a handspring nimbly.

"Not much I wouldn't! Not when I know supper's so near ready," answered Adrian, landing on his feet near Clara.

Then Roger became aware of the nicest odor coming from the region of the kitchen. He thought it was the best he had ever smelled, for he was hungry, more hungry than he had been in several weeks, as his appet.i.te had not been good of late. Now it seemed as if he could not get to the table quickly enough.

Once in the house Mrs. Kimball lost no time. She led Roger to his room, a pleasant chamber next to where Adrian slept, and, when she had seen his valise and trunk brought up, and showed him where the washbowl and pitcher of water could be found, she left him to prepare for supper.

For a minute or two Roger felt a flood of lonesomeness come over him. It was so very quiet, out there in the country, more quiet than he had ever supposed it possible to be. Even though it was only six o'clock, it was more silent than at midnight in New York, where, indeed, there is never lack of noise. Through the open window of the room came only the faint rattle of a distant wagon down the dusty road, and the chirp of crickets, that had begun their evening song early. For the first time since Roger had started he wished himself home again. It wasn't half as nice, this going away, as he had thought it would be. He felt a lump coming into his throat and a trace of moisture into his eyes.

Surely he couldn't be going to cry? What, cry? Of course not. Who ever heard of such a thing, even though it did seem lonesome just at first, you know, and even though he couldn't help feeling a trifle homesick. He controlled his feelings, poured out the water, and dashed it into his face vigorously. When he had finished using the towel he broke into a cheery whistle that penetrated to the rooms below; and then he bethought himself of his determination to wrestle and throw Adrian some day. He was ready to go downstairs now.

It was a very merry supper. Roger had his first taste of salt-rising bread, which is made without yeast, and he voted it the best he ever ate. He had fresh buckwheat honey, which had been taken from the hives that same day, his uncle told him. Then there was crisp, brown ham, and golden eggs, sugar-coated crullers, and rich creamy milk, and Roger surprised himself by the manner in which he put away the victuals.

The evening was spent in the "settin' room," as Mrs. Kimball called it, where they had kerosene lamps, which seemed strange to the city boy, used only to gas or electricity. About nine o'clock Roger's eyes began to get heavy, and to feel as if they had sticks in them. His head nodded once or twice, even while his uncle was talking to him.

"Bedtime," announced Mr. Kimball, suddenly, and Roger was glad to hear him say so. With a small lamp his aunt lighted the way to his room.

"I say!" called Adrian from his apartment, when Roger had settled snug between the cool sheets,--"I say, Roger."

"Well?"

"We'll go fishing to-morrow. I know a deep hole where we can get some dandy fat chubs."

"Good," called Roger, through his open door. "That will be sport."

He fell to listening to the dreamy chirp of the crickets and the trilling of the tree-toads. Gradually these sounds became fainter and fainter, and at last he could only hear them as if the insects were a score of miles away. Roger was sound asleep.

CHAPTER IV

IN DEEP WATER

The sun was well up over the eastern hills, shining down warm and mellow on Cardiff valley when Roger awoke next morning. At first he could scarcely remember where he was, so many changes of location had he gone through lately. He looked at the old-fashioned wall paper, listened to the rustling of the wind in the trees, and wondered if he was not dreaming. Then he gradually recalled the events of the day before. He got out of bed with a jump, and was dressing when Adrian came in.

"h.e.l.lo, Roger," was the greeting, "how'd you sleep?"

"Fine," answered Roger.

Then Adrian looked at the clothes his cousin was putting on. It was the same suit Roger had worn when he arrived.

"Oh, I say," exclaimed Adrian. "Don't tog out in these. We're going fishing, you know, and you'll need your old duds to go through the woods with. You'll spoil a good suit."

Then for the first time Roger realized that he didn't have to dress for school. He remembered that he was not going to study his lessons, and had only to go out into the air and sunshine, to listen to the birds, and to tramp through the fields. For the first time it came to him that, even though he was not as well and strong as many other boys, there was a good time ahead of him, and a chance for him to become as st.u.r.dy as Adrian.

"That's so, we are going fishing to-day," remarked Roger. "I'd forgotten all about it, I slept so soundly. I thought I was back in New York."