Three Young Knights

The last wisp of hay was in the Eddy mows. "Come on!" shouted Jot. "Here she goes-hip, hip, hoo-ray!" "Hoor-a-ay!" echoed Kent. But of course Old Tilly took it calmly. He planted his brown hands pocket-deep and his bare, brown legs wide apart, and surveyed the splendid, bursting mows with honest pride. "Yes, sir, that's the finest lot o' hay in Hexham county; beat it if you can, sir!" he said approvingly. Then, being ready, he caught off his own hat and cheered, too. "Hold on, you chaps; give the old man a chance to holler with you!" Father Eddy's big, hearty voice cried above the din, and there was the flaring, sun-browned "wide-awake" swinging with the other hats. "Hooray for the best hay in town! Hooray for the smartest team o' boys! Hooray for lib-er-tee!" "Hooray! Hooray!"