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The mount of the cones had become a mighty pyramid of pale green radiance one tremendous, pallid flame, of which the spire was the tongue. Out from the disked wheel at its shorn tip gushed a flood of light light that gathered itself from the leaping radiance below it. The tentacles of the Keeper moved more swiftly over the enigmatic tablet; writhing cloudily; confusedly rapid.
I dry-plowed my grain field to a depth averaging seven inches; it turned up very rough. I then disked and harrowed it, but it is still very rough.
It was a long field, and if he had earned a dollar for every time he had traversed its length, during the last ten years, he would have been a rich man. He could have walked it blindfolded. It was fallow ground, already plowed, disked, rolled, and now the last stage was to harrow it, loosening the soil, conserving the moisture.
For their first crop they could cut the native hay. Then they could sow timothy. There would be no need to plough the meadow. The seed could be disked in. Probably the land never would need ploughing, for it was a soft black loam. "How about roads?" Bob asked. "The old-timers claim we'll never get roads here." "Some one's going to take up all this river land mighty soon. That's a cinch.
"The lady who took you to the square?" said the mother, repeating the child's words from the very surprise they occasioned. "Yes, mamma," was the simple response. "What lady was it?" "I don't know. She met us as we were coming home from school, and asked us to go down and walk in the square. She knew Fanny." "How do you know, dear?" disked Mrs. Claire.
It was not physical, but lonely, waiting, prophetic, and weird. No wild desert of wastelands, once the home of other races of man, and now gone to decay and death, could have shown so barren an acreage. Half of this wandering patchwork of squares was earth, brown and gray, curried and disked, and rolled and combed and harrowed, with not a tiny leaf of green in all the miles.
But the final acre has been turned over, the final long sea of furrows disked and plank-dragged and seeded down, and after the heavy rains of Thursday night there's just the faintest tinge of green, here and there, along my billiard-table of a granary-to-be.
The world, rolling in her majestic seaway, heeled her gunwale slowly into the trough of space. Disked upon this bulwark, the sun rose, and promptly Gissing woke. The poplars flittered in a cool stir. Beyond the tadpole pond, through a notch in the landscape, he could see the far darkness of the hills. That fringe of woods was a railing that kept the sky from flooding over the earth.