22 Next to the Ground 



fully at his boots, then at the sweet-smelling 

 earth : " Dew-poison or riot, I '11 risk it ! " he 

 said, kicking off the boots and tramping on. 



The fresh earth more and more fascinated 

 him. It was a warm chocolate loam, except 

 in the swales where it was richest. There 

 it was black-brown with gold-lights of sand. 

 There the clover roots were half as big as his 

 wrists. The brown butterflies were plentiest 

 there, and the grasshoppers rose before the 

 share in clittering clouds. The strengthening 

 sun drew up the dew in steamy vapors. Birds 

 sang only in fitful snatches, but the crows 

 were noisier than ever. They flew in from 

 the flat-woods to hover impudently behind the 

 ploughs. Joe picked up a handful of rounded 

 pebbles. Rocks, he called them. They were 

 just the things for throwing — and those black 

 thieves deserved to be thrown at if ever any- 

 thing did. But as he made to launch the 

 first stone, he laughed and flung away the 

 whole handful, saying to himself: "My young 

 man, remember you 're ploughin' to-day, not 

 playin' ! Suppose Marse Major came and 

 found you throwin' rocks ! You might be 

 out of a job — besides, it ain't fair." 



He had let the mules make their own pace, 

 sure that they knew enough to make it safely 

 slow. As the sweat broke out on them in 

 faint darkish lines around collars and back- 



