My Boyhood and Touth 



carrots and turnips; but if not in good trim the 

 grubs promptly tossed the plough out of the 

 ground. A stout Highland Scot, our neighbor, 

 whose plough was in bad order and who did 

 not know how to trim it, was vainly trying to 

 keep it in the ground by main strength, while 

 his son, who was driving and merrily whipping 

 up the cattle, would cry encouragingly, "Hand 

 her in, fayther! Hand her in!" 



"But hoo i' the deil can I baud her in when 

 she'll no stop in?" his perspiring father would 

 reply, gasping for breath between each word. 

 On the contrary, with the share and coulter 

 sharp and nicely adjusted, the plough, instead 

 of shying at every grub and jumping out, ran 

 straight ahead without need of steering or hold- 

 ing, and gripped the ground so firmly that it 

 could hardly be thrown out at the end of the 

 furrow. 



Our breaker turned a furrow two feet wide, 

 and on our best land, where the sod was tough- 

 est, held so firm a grip that at the end of the 

 field my brother, who was driving the oxen, 

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