They
were built of rough lumber, and roofed with tarred paper, which made all
food taste of tar.
They were dens but little higher than a man's head, and yet they
sheltered the most joyous people that ever set foot to earth. In one
cabin lived a girl and a canary-bird, all alone. In the next a man who
cooked his own food when he did not share his rations with the girl, all
in frank and honorable companionship. On the next claim were two
school-teachers, busy as magpies, using the saw and hammer with deft
accuracy. In the next was a bank-clerk out for his health--and these
clean and self-contained people lived in free intercourse without
slander and without fear. Only the Alsatians settled in groups, alien
and unapproachable. All others met at odd times and places, breathing
in the promiseful air of the clean sod, resolute to put the world of
hopeless failure behind them.
Spring merged magnificently into summer. The grass upthrust. The
waterfowl passed on to the northern lake-region. The morning symphony of
the prairie-chickens died out, but the whistle of the larks, the chatter
of the sparrows, and the wailing cry of the nesting plover came to take
its place.
Pages:
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33