“That was the first intimation I had of what the old fellow was up to. But after breakfast he followed me out of the house, as if he had something on his mind to say to me.

“ ‘Stark,’ says he at last, ‘you’ve always insisted on’t that I wasn’t an enterprisin’ man.’

“ ‘I insist on’t still,’ says I; for I was in the habit of talking mighty plain to him, and joking him pretty hard sometimes. ‘If I had this farm, I’d show you enterprise. You wouldn’t see the hogs in the garden half the time, just for want of a good fence to keep ’em out. You wouldn’t see the very best strip of land lying waste, just for want of a ditch. You wouldn’t see that stone wall by the road tumbling down year after year, till by and by you won’t be able to see it for the weeds and thistles.’

“ ‘Yes,’ says he sarcastically, ‘ye’d lay out ten times as much money on the place as ye’d ever git back agin, I’ve no doubt. But I believe in economy.’

“That provoked me a little, and I said, “Economy! you’re one of the kind of men that’ll skin a flint for sixpence and spoil a jack-knife worth a shilling. You waste fodder and grain enough every three years to pay for a bigger barn—to say nothing of the inconvenience.’

“ ‘Wal, Stark,’ says he, grinning and scratching his head, ‘I’ve made up my mind to have a bigger barn, if I have to steal one.’

“ ‘That won’t be the first thing you’ve stole neither,’ says I.

“He flared up at that. ‘Stole?’ says he. ‘What did I ever steal?’

“ ‘Well, for one thing, the rails the freshet last spring drifted off from Talcott’s land onto yours, and you grabbed: what was that but stealing?’

“ ‘That was luck. He couldn’t swear to his rails. By the way, they’ll jest come in play now.’

“ ‘They’ve come in play already,’ says I. ‘They’ve gone on to the old fences all over the farm, and I could use a thousand more without making much show.’

“ ‘That’s ’cause you’re so dumbed extravagant with rails, as you are with everything else. A few loads can be spread from the fences here and there, as well as not. Harness up the team, boys, and git together enough to make about ten rods o’ zigzag, two rails high.’

“ ‘Two rails?’ says Dave, who had a healthy contempt for the old man’s narrow, contracted way of doing things. ‘What’s the good of such a fence as that?’

“ ‘It’ll be,’ says I, ‘like the single bar in music. When our old singing-master asked his class once what a single bar was, Bill Wilkins spoke up and said, “It’s a bar that horses and cattle jump over, and pigs and sheep run under." What do you expect to keep out with two rails?’

“‘The law, boys, the law,’ says Jedwort. I know what I’m about. I’ll make a fence the law can’t run under nor jump over; and I don’t care a cuss for the cattle and pigs. You git the rails, and I’ll rip some boards off’n the pig-pen to make stakes.’

“‘Boards a’n’t good for nothing’ for stakes,’ says Dave. ‘Besides, none can’t be spared from the pig-pen.’

“‘I’ll have boards enough in a day or two for forty pig-pens,’ says Jedwort. ‘Bring along the rails, and dump ’em out in the road for the present, and say nothin’ to nobody.’

“We got the rails, and he made his stakes; and right away after dinner he called us out. ‘Come, boys,’ says he, ‘now we’ll astonish the natives.’