here it lay, the waste of Mr.
Mosby's opportunity. Tiny creatures swarmed in the grass. Joe could
see them scurrying up and down the withered and drying stalks. A
little crowd of gnats was hovering about his head and occasionally one
would light upon his face and stick there dejectedly. Above the grass,
against the blue of the sky beyond, he could see the shimmering waves
hang tremulous like the air above a hot wood-stove in winter, and
there came to his ears the sudden whirring zip of a grasshopper in
mid-flight. Directly there came another, and another, till the air
seemed full of them. Summer had come. And about him lay the field in
listless idleness.

It was common talk that it should be worked, that it was a shame not
to work it. But there had not been money enough. Money was needed for
everything, everything that man wanted to do, money and something
else. About him buzzed the gnats; all around him poured the sunshine;
and in his ears was the drone of countless insects. This was Saturday.
Another full day and would come Monday. Monday! He had not thought of
it until now. He suddenly felt the uselessness of his bonds. And yet
he could feel the stretching of his tether. Was everybody fastened to
a tether? Was there no such thing as freedom? Singularly enough, this
field in all its idleness, with all its heat, with its droning and
buzzing, suggested freedom. In fact, the feel of the entire country,
this country that he had known, about which his memories clustered
thick, suggested freedom. And yet it was not above reproach. People
spoke of it condescendingly. "Poor land--unproducing--a century behind
the times." What was it? The land? The people? The times? There was
Uncle Buzz, with his foothold on two hundred acres, and they had
buried him in his one good suit. Buried beneath the force of
circumstances, he had never once lifted his head--had died with it in
a shallow pool of water. And _he_ was no better. He could feel the
shackles close about him, binding him hand and foot. What was one to
do? His head dropped down upon the crook of his arm and he fell
asleep.

An hour later he awoke. He felt hot and uncomfortable. He stretched
himself and rolled over on his back. He gazed upward through the
tangle of branches and tried to relax again. But the heat had become
unbearable. He struggled to his feet and brushed the litter from his
clothes. Away in each direction stretched the field. It was dry and
dusty and covered