The Glenwood post., 1909-10-02

wheat breaking uron sh1m-
Il mer of oats, and oats fading
to the whiteness of barley.
With never hedge or fence between
to limit the sense of distance Here
and there clump of willows bends
to the breeze; and here anu there a
mass of rock, scattered and scanned
in all directions. rises above the crop.
For the rest, all is glorious blending
of gold and silver FURNISHED by radi-
ant sunshine-a plain of plenty reach
ing to the southern horizon. On the
north line of dark forest sweeps in
a semi-circle, with little gray viii
lage sheltering within one end of its
deep curve; and a mile away an ave-
nue. of plane trees, seen across the
waving corn and bleaching stubble,
shows where runs the straight high
road-the road that takes one to Paris.
The corn grows up to the walls of
the village. only sandy track divid'
ing them. Here and there a cottage
stands on the edge of the crop, en-
powered in lines that climb to the
very chimneys. Over the sun-baked
meadows are scattered little orchards
of heavily-laden apple trees, and 9TH
ers crimson with plums; and every
where-at the cottage doors, among
the wheat, almost in the dust of the
lane-rise the feathery fronds- of
are mingled with the corn. and rosy
stained soapwort and the dainty blue
OF chicory fringe the path. Here and
there the vivid azure of borage CLEANS
above the general tangle of color,
varied with masses of pink-spurred
blossoms, not unlike columbine, but
even more delicately fashioned and
tinted. The weather has set in fair
and harvest is in full swing. In the
great French plains machinery is still
the exception rather than the rule. and
the rhythmic swish of scythe and
sickle mingles with the signing of the
wind among the corn stalks, and
makes gentle music fitting for an
August afternoon.
We see little plot of perhaps half
an acre actually enclosed. that is to
say, its limits are defined by wav-
ing green belt of asparagus; and with
white cap which characterizes the
peasant of northern France, is slowly
gathering together the reaped oats
with her curved hook and binding
them in little sheaves. Her son cut
her oats for her days ago. she says,
but 1t has been too hot for her to
work in the field Only to-day the
breeze has come. and by and by, when
he has finished carting yorder. Pierre
will help her again.
In the next field, II one can say
next" where everything seems to
blend indefinitely. carting is in prog
ress. Three big Normandy horses.
wearing nigh wooden collars faced
with brasswork. stand patiently under
a half-empty wagon from which the
men are pitching on to the stack; and
the women and children are cleaning
in the stubble. AS the day wears
on and they escape from their house.
hold duties more women flock to the
fields. big. sturdy women, some of
whom turn up their sleeves and bow
to the reaping with the strength of
men. Others join the cleaners. Here
and there may be seen an entire fam
lily. the father hard at work loading
or pitching, the mother and children
cleaning. They do not talk much,
these harvesters; their work is too ar
duous. but the little ones. chattering
In unintelligible patois. do not take
life SO seriously.
The sun is sinking in golden hase
that rises like the dust from some
tremendous threshing floor, and the
white road to Paris is barred with the
shadows of the plane trees which Ma.
poleon planted to shelter his march
ing troops. Motorists ought to bless
the memory OF Napoleon. for, once OF
the evil pavee which surrounds the
towns, there arc no roads In the world
SO good a. those he made all over
France. Behind he avenue ef planes
are apple and pear trees laden with
ePult. and, aithoaeA WitAi1 reaeA u tll