soldier, who came in from the barn a few moments later,
confirmed this. "I'm no truck farmer," he explained with humorous
contempt. "I turn this onion patch over to you. It's no place for me. In
two days I'll be broad-casting wheat on a thousand-acre farm. That's my
size"--a fact which I admitted.

As we sat at breakfast he went on to say that he found Wisconsin
woefully unprogressive. "These fellows back here are all stuck in the
mud. They've got to wake up to the reform movements. I'll be glad to
get back to Dakota where people are alive."

With the spirit of the seed-sower swelling within him he took the noon
train, handing over to me the management of the Homestead.

An hour later mother and I went out to inspect the garden and to plan
the seeding. The pie-plant leaves were unfolding and slender asparagus
spears were pointing from the mold. The smell of burning leaves brought
back to us both, with magic power, memories of the other springs and
other plantings on the plain. It was glorious, it was medicinal!

"This is the life!" I exultantly proclaimed. "Work is just what I need.
I shall set to it at once. Aren't you glad you are here in this lovely
valley and not out on the bleak Dakota plain?"

Mother's face sobered. "Yes, I like it here--it seems more like home
than any other place--and yet I miss the prairie and my Ordway friends."

As I went about the village I came to a partial understanding of her
feeling. The small dark shops, the uneven sidewalks, the rickety wooden
awnings were closely in character with the easy-going citizens who moved
leisurely and contentedly about their small affairs. It came to me (with
a sense of amusement) that these coatless shopkeepers who dealt out
sugar and kerosene while wearing their derby hats on the backs of their
heads, were not only my neighbors, but members of the Board of
Education. Though still primitive to my city eyes, they no longer
appeared remote. Something in their names and voices touched me nearly.
They were American. Their militant social democracy was at once comical
and corrective.

O, the peace, the sweetness of those days! To be awakened by the valiant
challenge of early-rising roosters; to hear the chuckle of dawn-light
worm-hunting robins brought a return of boy-hood's exultation. Not only
did my muscles harden to the spade and the hoe, my soul rejoiced in a
new and delightful sense of establishment. I had returned to
citizenship. I was a proprietor