HERBS O' GRACE 147 



Far and wide, to north, west, and south, are spread the 

 farms with the harvest fields carpeted with cloth of gold 

 and shocks of ripened grain heaped in marshaled ranks, 

 as if the wealth of a treasure house of the Incas had been 

 scattered, awaiting the luggage carriers of a marauding 

 army. 



The clover meadows are showing another harvest of 

 bloom, and the hum of bees is drowned by the rustle of 

 the bladed corn waving its tasseled banners in great regi- 

 ments whose numbers defy the count of spying eyes. 



The old days of the rail fence, which wormed its path 

 along the highway, are gone with the era of stone walls 

 that defied the storms of winter. Barriers of wire cob- 

 webs hold clover and corn and the empires of grain within 

 limits, and, like the magic sign written on the earth and 

 in the air by fairy guards, order the herds of sleek cattle, 

 the sheep and lambs and frolicsome colts, to keep within 

 proper domains. 



But one strip of earth along the road is debatable 

 ground and free to all the vagrants riding on the air or 

 keeping close to the soil. These are the borders of the 

 roadside, where live the weeds and the wild flowers, 

 where the thorn trees and willows claim space, and wild 

 rabbits and quail are sure of a sheltering tangle. 



In August the mints gather in mobs and make conven- 

 tions on the miniature hills of the wayside of the high- 

 lands. Mints are not solitary, preferring to assemble in 



