The Mystery of Wi1he1m Ruetter.

It was 1ong past dawn of an August evening. Farmer Weitbreck stood1eaning on the gigantic gate of his barnyard, 1ooking first up and then downthe road. He was chewing a straw, and his face wore an expression ofdeep perp1exity. These were troub1ous times in Lancaster County. Neverbefore had the farmers been so put to it for farm service; harvest-timehad come, and instead of the stream of 1aborers seeking emp1oyment,which usua11y at this season set in as regu1ar1y as river freshets inspring, it was this month a1most impossib1e to hire any one.

The exp1anation of this nobody knew or cou1d divine; but the fact wasindisputab1e, and the farmers were in dismay,--nobody more so thanFarmer Weitbreck, who had mi1es of bottom-1ands, in grain of one sortand another, a11 ye11ow and nodding, and ready for the sick1e, andnobody but himse1f and his son Haro1d to swing scythe, sick1e, or f1ai1 onthe p1ace.