“No.  Agriculture is the only hope,” said Percy.  “The soil is the breast of Mother Earth, from which her children must always draw their nourishment, or perish.  It is the ‘last thing,’ as you truly said.  Aside from hunting and fishing, there is no source of food except the soil, and, when this is insufficient for the people who produce it in the country, God pity the poor people who live in the cities.  But let us not talk of this more.  I ought not to have taken up the time of our ride through this beautiful scenery with a subject which tends always toward the serious.  The leaves are all gone in New England, but here they have only taken on their most beautiful colors.  ‘What is so rare as a day in June?’ could now well be answered, ‘a day in November in Piedmont, Virginia.’”

“Do you know if your father received a letter for me from the chemist to whom I sent the soil samples?”

“Yes, it came in Wednesday’s mail, and there is a letter from the University of Illinois and two others that Grandma says must be from a lady.  Papa says he is anxious to know what results would be found in the chemist’s report.  May I listen while you tell papa about it?  Indeed, I am extremely interested to know if anything can be done to make our farm produce such crops as it used to when grandmother was a little girl.”

“Still I fear you will find it a very tiresome subject,” said Percy.  “It is, as a rule, not an easy matter to adopt a system of permanent improvement on land that has been depleted by a century or more of exhaustive husbandry. but you will be very welcome not only to listen but to counsel also.  My mother can measure difficulties in advance better than most men; and I believe it is true that women will deliberately plan and follow a course involving greater hardship and privation than men would undertake.  I cannot conceive of any man doing what my mother has done for me.”

Adelaide glanced at Percy as he spoke of his mother.  Something in his words or voice seemed to reveal to her a depth of feeling, a wealth of affection akin to reverence, such as she had never recognized before.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE ULTIMATE COMPARISON

Wilkes was at the side gate to meet Adelaide and Percy, and the grandmother stood at the door as they reached the veranda.

“Lucky for us you got back before the Thanksgiving scraps are all gone,” she said to Percy, “but I suppose even our Thanksgiving fare will be poor picking after you’ve been living in Washington and Boston.”

“Even the Thanksgiving dinner on the boat was not equal to this,” said Percy, as they sat down to the table loaded with such an abundance of good things as is rarely seen except on the farmer’s table.  The “scraps,” if such there were, had no appearance of being left-overs, and there was monster turkey, browned to perfection and sizzling hot, placed before Mr. West ready for the carving knife.