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Streeter, John Williams

"The Fat of the Land The Story of an American Farm"

I think Polly was pleased to watch this
melting process, as it began to show itself in our young people, from
the safe retreat of her steamer chair and behind the covers of her book.
I couldn't find that she read two chapters from any book during the
whole voyage, or that she was miserable or discontented. She just
watched with a comfortable "I told you so" expression of countenance;
and she never mentioned home lot or garden or roses, from dock to dock.
It is as natural for a woman to make matches as for a robin to build
nests, and I suppose I had as much right to find fault with the one as
with the other. I did not find fault with her, but neither could I
understand her; so I fretted and fumed and smoked, and walked the deck
and bet on everything in sight and out of sight, until the soothing
influence of the sea took hold of me, and then I drifted like the rest
of them.
No, I will not say "like the rest of them," for I could not forgive this
waste of space given over to water. In other crossings I had not noted
the conspicuous waste with any feeling of loss or regret; but other
crossings had been made before I knew the value of land.


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