the earth more easily. She knew that it was one of the big moments of their lives. Everything depended on their crop that year. Neither spoke. Until at last the field was done. Benda was so tired he could not eat the sparse supper of potatoes. He fell on his bed, clothed as he was and slept. At least he had done his best. And the soil knew and appreciated his efforts. That year the crops were splendid. While they were waiting for the harvest Benda did odd jobs for the neighbors round about. He was a handy man. He could turn his hand to anything. But in carpentry he was particularly adept. So they managed to scrape through the months somehow. That season, however, marked the lowest ebb of their fortunes. Benda was never too poor thereafter
to own a horse.
