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NE night after the threshing. Dad lying on the sofa, thinking; the rest of us sitting at the table. Dad spoke to Joe.

"How much," he said, "is seven hundred bushels of wheat at six shillings?"

Joe, who was looked upon as the brainy one of our family, took down his slate with a hint of scholarly ostentation.

"What did y' say, Dad—seven 'undered bags?"

"Bushels! Bushels!"

"Seven 'un—dered bush—els—of wheat—wheat was it.. Dad? "

"Yes, wheat!"

"Wheat—at ... At what, Dad?'

"Six shillings a bushel."

"Six shil—lings—a . . . A, Dad? We've not done any at a; she 's on'y showed us per!"

"Per bushel, then!"

"Per bush—el. That 's seven 'undered bushels of wheat at six shillin's per bushel. An' y' wants ter know, Dad?"