'em by the bushel for the pickin', an' we hadn't got on to
raisin' much wheat, an' had to carry it on horses over into Ohio
to get it milled. Took Pa five days to make the trip; an' then
the blame old squaws 'ud come, an' Ma 'ud be compelled to hand
over to 'em her big white loaves. Jest about set her plumb
crazy. Used to get up in the night, an' fix her yeast, an' bake,
an' let the oven cool, an' hide the bread out in the wheat bin,
an' get the smell of it all out o' the house by good daylight,
so's 'at she could say there wasn't a loaf in the cabin. Oh! if
it's good pickin' you're after, they's berries for all creation
'long the river yet; an' jest wait a few days till old April gets
done showerin' an' I plow this corn field!"

Abram set a foot on the third rail and leaned his elbows on the
top. The Cardinal chipped delightedly and hopped and tilted
closer.

"I hadn't jest 'lowed all winter I'd tackle this field again.
I've turned it every spring for forty year. Bought it when I was
a young fellow, jest married to Maria. Shouldered a big debt on
it; but I always loved these slopin' fields, an' my share of this
old Wabash hasn't been for sale nor tradin' any time this past
forty year. I've hung on to it like grim death, for it's jest
that much o' Paradise I'm plumb sure of. First time I plowed
this field, Mr. Redbird, I only hit the high places. Jest
married Maria, an' I didn't touch earth any too frequent all that
summer. I've plowed it every year since, an' I've been 'lowin'
all this winter, when the rheumatiz was gettin' in its work, 'at
I'd give it up this spring an' turn it to medder; but I don't
know. Once I got started, b'lieve I could go it all right an'