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Somewhat of the jewel, is there not, in 

 these slender, long ears, so silken of husk, 

 so thick-set with shining, flint-pearl grains ? 

 They hang four, five even, to the stalk. 

 What wonder the wagon -bed so quickly 

 overflows. This is the grain for bread the 

 true " Little Willis." Properly shelled and 

 ground it gives meal as round, as pearly, as 

 fairy hail, of the wholesoinest sweet the 

 one corn truly to make one in love with its 

 bread. Now and again it yields a red ear 

 otherwise there is no stain of color save 

 the slender, dull-red cob. 



Jim has swung away, full run, for the crib, 

 all his simple soul elate over such abound- 

 ing harvest. Almost before you dream it 

 he will be back, eager as a child to measure 

 the depth of his good-fortune. Leave him 

 to the joy of fulness here in the swale. 

 Come away to the creek-side. Either hand 

 the bottoms have been corn-fields time out 

 of mind. This, the near one, has held its 

 gatherers many a day. There the fatting 

 hogs have rioted since late September days. 

 What tangle it lies now, of bent stalks, of 

 nipped pea -vines, of fresh -rooted earth! 

 The smooth, fat, small-eyed creatures lie at 

 ease, lazily grunting, in beds of sweet earth. 

 Fifty sixty maybe more. No wonder 



