Meadow and Mountain 



sight to see this ball of green roll and bound across the level 

 prairies, now and then leaping a fence or rolling clean over a 

 cattle shed. But its roots seldom let go of the soil, even in 

 the strongest wind, till the tiny seeds are ripe and black. 

 The weed is content to stay in its place till it can scatter its 

 life by going. 



Winds and weeds work together, 

 Day and night in every weather. 



One day in autumn I saw three country lads strolling 

 across a field of wheat just greening the ground. The wind 

 was strong and irregular, and sent the rolling weed bounding 

 over the field. As a large one came near them, it was a banter 

 to the boys. They were simultaneously possessed w r ith a 

 bright idea. They seized a shuck which had strayed in the 

 wind from a nearby field of corn, and, lighting it, tied the 

 torch to the weed. Soon the whole was a rolling flame which 

 leaped w r ildly in the wind toward the farmhouse, the barn, 

 sheds, and stacks that stood at the edge of the green wheat 

 field. The startled boys ran with the wind after the flaming 

 weed, catching and crushing it just in time to prevent dis- 

 aster and loss of property. As fire-brands, these weeds would 

 have been more than a match for the flame-tailed foxes that 

 Samson set among the Philistine fields of standing corn. 

 But the sight of a rolling flame over a field of green was 

 beautiful to see. 



In certain aspects of it, the Pig Weed is a thing of beauty. 

 At a distance it looks like a diminutive lombardy poplar tree. 

 Its leaves are dark-green in summer and early fall, but after 

 frost they are seared and brown. When draped with winter- 

 mist frozen into frost they look more lovely than cathedral 



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