SUMMER IN A BOG. 25 



use. He faded away last March. We all 

 thought the son would move back to the city, 

 but it seems that he has set his heart on some 

 scheme he has in mind. He says he '11 stick 

 to the farm for a spell longer. He doesn't 

 say a word about his work in the sand, and 

 he doesn't encourage loafers about his shed 

 back there ; and to tell you the truth, we farmers 

 are all a sight too busy about our own work 

 to meddle with his. We 're like yourself as far 

 as time goes — ^it 's the scarcest article in the 

 market." 



"Grood luck to him, whatever it is. There 's 

 nothing like trying. I '11 be glad to see these 

 old gravel beds turned to some account. They 

 do wash away if you try to farm 'em, that 's 

 sure. So long." 



As we drove on, my mind was still busy with 

 the road, and when we took the way for home, 

 branching to the south, some newly mended 

 spots drew attention. 



A fresh load of gravel on one of these roads 

 can a tale unfold of deep interest to the geolo- 

 gist. As he scans the scratched or striated 

 surface of each pebble and piece of stone he 

 sees the record of a long and tedious journey; 

 and from the nature of the material he knows 

 from whence it was brought. Here is a frag- 

 ment of granite, this of greenstone, this of 



