176 Next to the Ground 



and mists hung in the tree tops. In Decem- 

 ber, the ground froze hard of nights, and then 

 you could hear all the passing on the big road 

 for miles and miles. Still it did not touch the 

 borders of White Oaks. The road ran to the 

 county town seven miles away. There was 

 much heavy hauling over it, and in the fall, 

 before the winter rains, the red clay surface 

 of it was beaten as smooth and almost as hard 

 as glair ice. Wheels did not rattle or grind over 

 it. Instead they set up a sort of vibrant hum. 

 Shod-teams, or even those half-shod beat out 

 with their hoofs a deep drumming rat-tat. 

 Those going barefoot made a blurred plopping 

 sound. Saddle-horses galloping set the clay 

 ringing almost as though it were metal. 



The road wound down a long hill to cross 

 the creek. A spring broke out just above the 

 ford. Wagoners often camped there. Joe 

 knew when they meant to camp by the way 

 they rattled their teams down hill. The sound 

 of axes chopping logs for the camp fire was 

 quite superfluous. He knew too by the rattle 

 whether the wagons were light or laden. Light, 

 they made a great clatter ; loaded, they bumped 

 and jarred. Wind and weather had much to 

 do with the distinctness of the sound. The 

 road ran to northwards. South winds blew 

 back the sounds, as northerly ones, or north- 

 westerly, brought them straight to the ear. 



