26 ALFALFA FARMING IN AMERICA. 
the rich dry hill, full of limestone pebbles. Down 
by the stream the alfalfa was weak, sickly, soon 
taken by the crowding grasses and weeds. Back on 
the flat wet poor clay it amounted to very little. On 
the dry rich soil full of carbonate of lime it thrived 
beautifully. So there the boy stood and pondered; 
the lesson was plain, though unwelcome. ‘‘It is evi- 
dent that this farm is not ready for alfalfa,’’ he 
said. ‘‘I’ll make it ready. I’ll drain the wet land. 
T’ll enrich the poor land. I’ll grow alfalfa; some 
day I’ll have 40 acres of it, but not so soon as I 
thought I would.’’ So then began the work of lay- 
ing tile underdrains in earnest. The father had laid 
many in his day, but not nearly enough, judging by 
the new standard that alfalfa set up. 
And that fall the kind old father died, died in a 
peaceful and happy sort of way, as almost anyone 
would be glad to die. He had been fairly well that 
summer, and had insisted in helping in the hay field, 
raking with the horse rake and cheerily, almost glee- 
fully, showing the men that he was by no means 
worn out. One morning he arose early, as was his 
habit, and went out to work in his garden before 
the breakfast time, and there the boy had his last 
talk with the old man, and arranged with him about 
going to the fair soon to come off. After breakfast 
the father went to the barn and hitched his gentle 
mare Daisy to a spring wagon and got ready to go 
to the village on some errand, probably to take some 
vegetables to market. When the horse stopped at 
the front gate, coming from the barn, no one seemed 
