In
drawing my map, the forty which Polly had segregated left the northeast
forty standing alone, and I had to cast about for some good way of
treating it. "Make it your feeding ground," said my good genius, and
thus the wrath of Polly was made to glorify my plans.
This feeding lot of forty acres is all high land, naturally drained. It
was near the obvious building line, and it seemed suitable in every way.
I drew a line from north to south, cutting it in the middle. The east
twenty I devoted to cows and their belongings; the west twenty was
divided by right lines into lots of five acres each, the southwest one
for the hens and the other three for hogs.
Looking around for Polly to show her my work, I found she had
disappeared; but soon I saw her white gown among the trees. Joining her,
I said,--
"I have mapped seven forties; have you finished one?"
"I have not," she said. "Mine is of more importance than all of yours; I
will give you a sketch this evening. This bit of woods is better than I
thought. How much of it do you suppose there is?"
"About seven acres, I reckon, by hook and by crook; enough to amuse you
and furnish a lot of wild-flower seed to be floated over the rest of the
farm.
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