To be a farmer was his present dream.
"But that's too heavy for you," continued Billy Jack.

"Here, let down the tongue first." "Pshaw!" said Hughie, disgusted at his exhibition of ignorance, "I knew that tongue ought to come out first, but I forgot." "Oh, well, it's just as good that way, but not quite so easy," said Billy Jack, with doubtful consistency.
It took Hughie but a few minutes after the tongue was let down to unfasten his end of the neck-yoke and the cross-lines, and he was beginning at his hame-strap, always a difficult buckle, when Billy Jack called out, "Hold on there! You're too quick for me.

We'll make them carry their own harness into the stable.

Don't believe in making a horse of myself." Billy Jack was something of a humorist.
The Finch homestead was a model of finished neatness.

Order was its law.
Outside, the stables, barns, stacks, the very wood-piles, evidenced that law.