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they have stripped this field. See, across 

 the stream another wagon is making haste 

 to supply their clamorous throats. 



What big, round ears it bears ; yellow as 

 gold, wrinkled all over the face of them. 

 With their big, coarse cobs, their spongy 

 texture, their ungainly - bulk, they seem 

 scarcely of kin to the slender flint corn. 

 Yet what depth of hue is theirs ! The yel- 

 low of them is splashed, dotted, made alive 

 with the blackest crimson, most glowing 

 strawberry scarlet, with purple to shame 

 the amethyst's deep heart. It is not pearls 

 that shall be cast before these swine. In- 

 stead, something richer, more colorful also, 

 no doubt, much more to their mind. 



Andrew, the cropper, has fetched in this 

 load. The rig is his own one that moves 

 Jim to the liveliest derision. A sway-backed 

 brood-mare makes half the team, a small, 

 wicked -looking, unkempt mule the other. 

 The wagon's four wheels began life each as 

 part of a different vehicle. The bed is an- 

 other survival apparently of the unfittest. 

 Yet Andrew eyes both with the pride of 

 possession walking solemnly behind, while 

 his small son, aperch on the load, shouts, 

 "Gee-up!" and "Haw-w-dar! Whut ye 

 doin' now 7 ?" with much jerking of rope-reins. 

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