Fir gin Soil 13 



they pound it, and hammer it till it makes your 

 ears ring. From where they stand, the small boy 

 can see all over the field, and for the first time he 

 notices that the furrows look like the paper bor- 

 der on his own room at home. The yellow border 

 around the green field looks quite pretty, and he 

 wonders if the birds would enjoy it if they never 

 did any more plowing, but just left it as it was. 

 He does not believe the black-birds that swarmed 

 around him as they followed the plow, gobbling 

 up every living thing would, because they were too 

 greedy to notice anything but something to eat. 

 He had been too busy before to give more than a 

 passing thought to the countless forms of life 

 brought to light by the plow. He had not sup- 

 posed that so many things lived under ground. 

 Why did they do it? He would ask his father 

 about it, and he must not forget to ask him why 

 each new furrow lapped over on the edge of the 

 last one as if it had to be held down. 



After dinner, he propounded these questions 

 and was told that the earth was the real home 

 of every thing; that all that lived had come forth 

 from it and would ultimately return and slumber 

 in its bosom. That with regard to the furrows, 

 they would doubtless remain where they were if 

 not held down, because so far they had not run 

 away, and they probably had been turned over 

 again and again; perhaps by a plow ten times as 



