MY NEIGHBOR'S FIELD 



IT is one of those places God must have 

 meant for a field from all time, lying 

 very level at the foot of the slope that 

 crowds up against Kearsarge, falling slight- 

 ly toward the town. North and south it 

 is fenced by low old glacial ridges, boulder 

 strewn and untenable. Eastward it butts 

 on orchard closes and the village gardens, 

 brimming over into them by wild brier and 

 creeping grass. The village street, with its 

 double row of unlike houses, breaks off ab- 

 ruptly at the edge of the field in a foot- 

 path that goes up the streamside, beyond 

 it, to the source of waters. 



The field is not greatly esteemed of the 

 town, not being put to the plough nor af- 

 fording firewood, but breeding all manner 

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