THE BAPTISM OF DIRT 



tember reminds me of a man who has reached 

 forty years of age. Listen to the cider-presses, 

 down in that meadow. It s the Yankee s vintage 

 time.&quot; 



&quot; I have remarked that girl carefully,&quot; I said. 

 &quot; She has a magic that defies environment and 

 conditions. She doesn t escape drudgery. She 

 invites and transforms it. Her contented nature 

 is a continual harvest home. I wonder if it is 

 true that Gabe intends to sell out and marry her 

 off.&quot; 



&quot; Doubtless,&quot; said the Doctor. &quot; She is proba 

 bly engaged to the village blacksmith. Do you 

 smell the wild grapes ? They hang high on those 

 old buttonball trees.&quot; 



&quot; I mentioned to you once before that she is 

 devotedly attached to Charlie.&quot; 



&quot; He probably doesn t invest her with any 

 magical virtues. I don t think you enjoy such a 

 morning as this as keenly as I do. This air re 

 minds me of one of those English glees that 

 require men s voices. There is always a lusty 

 eagerness in them. Take that glorious old song 

 of * Hail, Smiling Morn Spoffort s, I think. 

 How exultant and Saxon ! The voices all seem 

 to be horns. We can t write those songs any 

 more. We seem to have left September out of 

 the repertory. Curious, isn t it, that the farther 

 West music gets, the less muscle it has.&quot; 



&quot; But you must certainly see that Charlie would 

 be greatly benefited if he had a tenderer hand than 

 mine to shape and guide him while he is ductile.&quot; 



179 



