After breakfast Mr. Wheeler took Claude out to the fields, where Ralph was directing the harvesters.  They watched the binder for a while, then went over to look at the haystacks and alfalfa, and walked along the edge of the cornfield, where they examined the young ears.  Mr. Wheeler explained and exhibited the farm to Claude as if he were a stranger; the boy had a curious feeling of being now formally introduced to these acres on which he had worked every summer since he was big enough to carry water to the harvesters.  His father told him how much land they owned, and how much it was worth, and that it was unencumbered except for a trifling mortgage he had given on one quarter when he took over the Colorado ranch.

“When you come back,” he said, “you and Ralph won’t have to hunt around to get into business.  You’ll both be well fixed.  Now you’d better go home by old man Dawson’s and drop in to see Susie.  Everybody about here was astonished when Leonard went.”  He walked with Claude to the corner where the Dawson land met his own.  “By the way,” he said as he turned back, “don’t forget to go in to see the Yoeders sometime.  Gus is pretty sore since they had him up in court.  Ask for the old grandmother.  You remember she never learned any English.  And now they’ve told her it’s dangerous to talk German, she don’t talk at all and hides away from everybody.  If I go by early in the morning, when she’s out weeding the garden, she runs and squats down in the gooseberry bushes till I’m out of sight.”

Claude decided he would go to the Yoeders’ today, and to the Dawsons’ tomorrow.  He didn’t like to think there might be hard feeling toward him in a house where he had had so many good times, and where he had often found a refuge when things were dull at home.  The Yoeder boys had a music-box long before the days of Victrolas, and a magic lantern, and the old grandmother made wonderful shadow-pictures on a sheet, and told stories about them.  She used to turn the map of Europe upside down on the kitchen table and showed the children how, in this position, it looked like a jungfrau; and recited a long German rhyme which told how Spain was the maiden’s head, the Pyrenees her lace ruff, Germany her heart and bosom, England and Italy were two arms, and Russia, though it looked so big, was only a hoopskirt.  This rhyme would probably be condemned as dangerous propaganda now!

As he walked on alone, Claude was thinking how this country that had once seemed little and dull to him, now seemed large and rich in variety.  During the months in camp he had been wholly absorbed in new work and new friendships, and now his own neighbourhood came to him with the freshness of things that have been forgotten for a long while,—­came together before his eyes as a harmonious whole.  He was going away, and he would carry the whole countryside in his mind, meaning more to him than it ever had before.  There was Lovely Creek, gurgling on down there, where he and Ernest used to sit and lament that the book of History was finished; that the world had come to avaricious old age and noble enterprise was dead for ever.  But he was going away....