In the Lake Country 109 
orchards, and far apart in the midst of the 
waving grain, solitary and majestic, rise the 
splendid domes and towering vase-like forms 
of the elms. Over these fields, white cumuli 
mass themselves in April skies, and the im- 
palpable fleece and diaphanous cyrrhus clouds 
of the brooding skies of autumn drift and 
change and vanish. 
How many pictures they present, one after 
another marking the progress of the season, 
which are dear to our pastoral selves: the 
reapers, the sheaves of wheat, the hayricks, 
the grazing sheep and cattle resting in the 
shade of elms, the shocks of corn and glisten- 
ing pumpkins. From the harvesting of the 
wheat to the husking of the corn, these 
fields yield other harvests than those that 
are gathered into barns—harvests for the 
quiet eye and the mind at peace with the 
world. 
Not the least of these is the association 
with field birds which a wheat growing and 
farming region affords. As one jogs along the 
country roads day after day, the insect-like 
voices of grasshopper sparrows, the song of 
the vesper and occasionally the horned lark, 
the long-drawn, high-pitched soprano of the 
meadow lark, the bubbling irresistible medley 
