THE SEARCH AND FINDING 



son into which the brook passed; and the 

 farther shores were so distant, that the Hudson 

 looked like a bay of the sea. A gaunt Ameri- 

 can who was in charge of the premises did 

 the honors of the place, and in the intervals 

 of expressing the juices from a huge quid of 

 tobacco that lay in his cheek, he enlarged upon 

 the qualities of the soil. 



To him the view or situation was nothing, 

 but the capacity for corn or rye was the main 

 "p'int." 



"Ef yer want a farm, Mister, yer want sile; 

 now this 'ere (turning up a turf with a back 

 thrust of his heel) is what I call sile; none o' 

 yer dum leachy stuff ; you put manure into this 

 'ere, and it stays 'put.' " 



"Grows good crops, then," I threw in, by 

 way of interlude. 



"I guess it dooz, Mister. Corn, potatoes, 

 garden sass — why, only look at this 'ere turf; 

 see them clovers, and this blue grass. Ef you 

 was a farmer — doan't know but you be, but 

 doan't look jist like one— you 'd know that 

 't ain't every farm can scare up such a turf as 

 that." 



"Very true," I remark ; while my lank friend 

 adjusts his quid for a new bit of comment. 



"Now here 's Simmons on the hill— smart 



31 



