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Updated: May 26, 2025
Next morning, before the sun was up, there stood in the farmer's yard a new iron plough, and he yoked his dog, Water, to it; and though it was of the size of an ordinary plough, Water drew it with ease through the heaviest clayland, and it tore up prodigious furrows.
It was quite late when Grace and Prince returned, much later than she supposed, so that she missed the train and had to wait for the next, several hours later. Mr. Clayland kindly volunteered to take her to the station, an offer she was very glad to accept. The lamps were already lighted when she entered the car.
Prince licked his mouth and pushed his nose close under her hand while his tail wagged violently. "Yes, of course he is. I wish my old limbs would let me go too, but I can't even hobble to-day for the rheumatism has been dreadful the last week," said Mrs. Clayland, as she wiped her spectacles.
Grace hardly knew what to say, for here was just the place for a little sympathy, and yet she must shut her eyes to false beliefs and conditions, so she wisely talked of the beautiful day, the warm air, and what not, while secretly resolving that Mrs. Clayland should be her first patient if she ever knew how to treat patients according to the Christ method.
Clayland, but she had no desire to study destruction or death. It was life, living things, that she would portray. Was there not beauty and grandeur everywhere, hinting of Infinity? Even the noisy and monotonous waterfall now had a message for her as it rushed forcefully on its course, regardless of any and all obstructions.
In the mean time, she would give her some thoughts. While Mrs. Clayland volubly rattled on, talking of all her aches and pains, Grace was doing her best to think of the very opposite statement, that she was well. At last, however, with Prince trotting gaily in front of her, she began her rambles in earnest.
Clayland was rejoiced to see her, for it had been several weeks since Grace had called, and she was eager to tell her of the great tree up in the ravine that had been blasted by the lightning, and about the beautiful little waterfall caused by the Cherry Creek freshet.
Down into the clayland forests of the Andredsweald, and up out of them again at Basing, on to the clean crisp chalk turf; to strike at Popham Lane the Roman road from Silchester, and hold it over the high downs, till they saw far below them the royal city of Winchester.
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