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Norwegians, Swedes, Danes, Scotchmen, Englishmen, and Russians all mingled in this flood of land-seekers rolling toward the sundown plain, where a fat-soiled valley had been set aside by good Uncle Sam for the enrichment of every man. Such elation, such hopefulness could not fail to involve an excitable youth like myself.
And he thought of what lay on the far side of this long grass rampart of down country the fat-soiled valley, the other railway line, the trains from the West of England, full of queer people, running by night as well as by day. As he passed the Barradine Arms, he saw three louts leaning against a dry bit of wall under the eaves of an outhouse.
In single jacket trances I have lived the many lives involved in the thousand-years-long Odysseys of the early drifts of men. I have died of frost and famine, fight and flood. I have picked berries on the bleak backbone of the world, and I have dug roots to eat from the fat-soiled fens and meadows.
His fat-soiled vegetable-garden in the nook of hills that failed of its best was a problem of engrossing importance, and when he had solved it by putting in drain-tile, the joy of the achievement was ever with him. He never worked in it and found the soil unpacked and tractable without experiencing the thrill of accomplishment. There was the matter of the plumbing.
He was the product of a freak of heredity. In the fat-soiled valley-lands, some fifteen miles back of Ringwaak Hill, the farmers had a heavy, long-wooled, hornless strain of sheep, mainly of the Leicester breed, which had been crossed, years back, by an imported Scotch ram of one of the horned, courageous, upland, black-faced varieties.
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