e crop of fruit.
When we came in to breakfast I quite stirred the practical Mrs. Clark
with my enthusiasm, and she promised at once to send for a bulletin on
apple-tree renovation, published by the state experiment station. I am
sure I was no more earnest in my advice than the conditions warranted.

After breakfast we went into the field, and I suggested that instead of
ploughing any more land--for the season was already late--we get out all
the accumulations of rotted manure from around the barn and strew it on
the land already ploughed and harrow it in.

"A good job on a little piece of land," I said, "is far more profitable
than a poor job on a big piece of land."

Without more ado we got his old team hitched up and began loading, and
hauling out the manure, and spent all day long at it. Indeed, such was
the height of enthusiasm which T. N. Clark now reached (for his was a
temperament that must either soar in the clouds or grovel in the mire),
that he did not wish to stop when Mrs. Clark called us in to supper. In
that one day his crop of corn, in perspective, overflowed his crib, he
could not find boxes and barrels for his apples, his shed would not hold
all his tobacco, and his barn was already being enlarged to accommodate
a couple more cows! He was also keeping bees and growing ginseng.

But it was fine, that evening, to see Mrs. Clark's face, the renewed
hope and courage in it. I thought as I looked at her (for she was the
strong and steady one in that house):

"If you can keep the enthusiasm up, if you can make that husband of
yours grow corn, and cows, and apples as you raise chickens and make
garden, there is victory yet in this valley."

That night it rained, but in spite of the moist earth we spent almost
all of the following day hard at work in the field, and all the time
talking over ways and means for the future, but the next morning, early,
I swung my bag on my back and left them.

I shall not attempt to describe the friendliness of our parting. Mrs.
Clark followed me wistfully to the gate.

"I can't tell you--" she began, with the tears starting in her eyes.

"Then don't try--" said I, smiling.

And so I swung off down the country road, without looking back.

CHAPTER VII. THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY

In some strange deep way there is no experience of my whole pilgrimage
that I look back upon with so much wistful affection as I do upon the
events of the day--the day and the wonderful night