8 LIFE OF A TREE. 
is buried below the surface of the water, while 
they and the holder of the plough wade ankle- 
deep along their toilsome course. Then watch 
who follows,—one with a number of little balls 
of earth, out of which peeps a young plant. 
These are dropped in, the bread is cast upon the 
waters, and after many days a waving rice-field 
occupies the place of the formerly unclothed 
plain. 
But nearer home. It is seed-time, and Old 
England’s broad bosom is being ploughed into 
many a furrow. Along the upland see the pair 
of well-fed horses steadily pulling the iron 
plough held by the whistling ploughman, so 
is the seed-bed laid open. Then see the sower 
with his basket of corn-seed flinging abroad the 
precious grain; while the harrow follows him, 
and gently covers in the seed, imbedding it an 
inch or two in the soil. Winter follows the steps 
of the sower, and puts its ice-lock on the ground. 
But in time the dreary months pass by, the 
“winter is past, the rain is over and gone, the 
flowers appear on the earth,” the corn blades rise 
from the brown bosom of the field, the summer’s 
sun gilds the heavy ear with its own golden tint, 
