They were in a long line of buggies that began to scatter out and roam across fields to escape the dust of the roads.

"Well," said Mrs.Barclay, as they pulled up the bank of the Sycamore for home, "I suppose it will be you and Molly next, Bob ?" It was Molly who replied: "Yes.

It is going to be Thanksgiving." "Well, why not ?" asked Mrs.Barclay.
"Oh--they all seem to think we shouldn't, don't you know, Mrs.
Barclay--with all this hard times--and the bank closing.

And hasn't John told you of the plan he's worked out for Bob to go to New York this winter ?" The buggy was nearing the Barclay home.

Mrs.Barclay answered, "No," and the girl went on.
"Well, it's a big wheat land scheme--and Bob's to go East and sell the stock.