asoutoftheirsightandthought.Itwastheonlyopenandcultivatedfieldforagreatdistanceoneithersideoftheroadsotheymadethemostofitandsometimesthemaninthefieldheardmoreoftravellers’gossipandcommentthanwasmeantforhisear:“Beanssolate!peassolate!”—forIcontinuedtoplantwhenothershadbeguntohoe,—theministerialhusbandmanhadnotsuspectedit.“Corn,myboy,forfoddercornforfodder.”“Doeshelivethere?”askstheblackbonnetofthegraycoatandthehard-featuredfarmerreinsuphisgratefuldobbintoinquirewhatyouaredoingwhereheseesnomanureinthefurrow,andrecommendsalittlechipdirt,oranylittlewastestuff,oritmaybeashesorplaster.Buthereweretwoacresandahalfoffurrows,andonlyahoeforcartandtwohandstodrawit,—therebeinganaversiontoothercartsandhorses,—andchipdirtfaraway.Fellow-travellersastheyrattledbycompareditaloudwiththefieldswhichtheyhadpassed,sothatIcametoknowhowIstoodintheagriculturalworld.ThiswasonefieldnotinMr.Coleman’sreport.And,bytheway,whoestimatesthevalueofthecropwhichnatureyieldsinthestillwilderfieldsunimprovedbyman?ThecropofEnglishhayiscarefullyweighed,themoisturecalculated,thesilicatesandthepotashbutinalldellsandpondholesinthewoodsandpasturesandswampsgrowsarichandvariouscroponlyunreapedbyman.Minewas,asitwere,theconnectinglinkbetweenwildandcultivatedfieldsassomestatesarecivilized,andothershalf-civilized,andotherssavageorbarbarous,somyfieldwas,thoughnotinabadsense,ahalf-cultivatedfield.TheywerebeanscheerfullyreturningtotheirwildandprimitivestatethatIcultivated,andmyhoeplayedtheRanzdesVachesforthem.
Nearathand,uponthetopmostsprayofabirch,singsthebrown-thrasher—orredmavis,assomelovetocallhim—allthemorning,gladofyoursociety,thatwouldfindoutanotherfarmer’sfieldifyourswerenothere.Whileyouareplantingtheseed,hecries,—“Dropit,dropit,—coveritup,coveritup,—pullitup,pullitup,pullitup.”Butthiswasnotcor