Using their sharp knives, they began cutting the corn close to the
ground. They stood the tall golden stalks on end, tying them together in
neat shocks or bundles. By the time the sun stood directly overhead,
several long rows had been cut and stacked, and John Carter was coming
toward them across the field. It was noon.
Abe laid aside his knife, sat down on the rail fence, and pulled out his
book. He took a piece of cornbread wrapped in a corn husk from his
pocket. As he ate, he read, paying no attention to the conversation
taking place a few feet away.
"Come and sit down, Tom," said Carter.
Tom sat on a tree stump. Carter was being more friendly than usual. He
was carrying a gourd full of ink, which he placed on another stump. He
set down a deerskin bag, which jingled pleasantly with coins. In one
pocket he found a turkey-buzzard pen. From another he brought out an
official-looking paper.
"Here is the deed for the south field," he explained. "Here's a pen.
I'll hold the ink for you. You make your mark right here."
"I don't need to make my mark," said Tom proudly. "I know how to sign my
name.
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