“Now let us go back a little.  I think it was the second spring after we moved onto the place that I happened to be crossing the farm of my next neighbor, Mr. Holcombe, now dead.  I found him plowing.  He had been around a piece of land, I should judge five acres, half a dozen times.  He was sitting on the plow, tired out,—­too old to work anyway.  He said, ’I wish you would take this land and put in some crop on the shares; I want to get rid of the work; I can’t do it, and would like to let you have it in some way.  All I want is that it should be left so I can seed it down in the fall again.’

“It was an old piece of sod he had mowed in the old eastern way until it wouldn’t grow anything any longer.  I don’t suppose he got a quarter of a ton of hay to the acre.  He wanted it plowed so he could re-seed it.  I didn’t know the value of the land, but, foolishly perhaps, as most people thought, offered him five dollars an acre for the use of it.  I hadn’t enough to do at home.  I didn’t have my land in shape so I could do much.  We were working along as fast as we could.  I thought I could do well if I had this job, and could perhaps make something off it.  He agreed to it.

“I went home and got my team and plow, and finished the plowing.  I remember making those furrows narrow and turning the ground well, a little deeper than it had been plowed before.  I didn’t realize what I was doing, then.  I simply had been brought up to do my work well.  I thought I was doing a good job, that was all.  When I was through plowing I got my old harrow, a spike-tooth, and harrowed the ground.  I had a roller.  They were manufactured in our town.  The firm bursted and I had a chance to buy one very cheap.  I had a roller, harrow, and plow.  That was all the tillage implements.  The harrow had moved the lumps around a little.  I ran the roller over the lumps; then harrowed, rolled, and harrowed.  When the harrow would not take hold, I put a plank across and rode on it.  I worked that land alternately until I had the surface as fine and nice as I could make it, two or three inches deep.  The harrow would not take hold any longer and I had to quit.  By and by a rain came.  I didn’t know anything about how to till land,—­this spring fallow business—­but I happened to hit it right.  After it rained, I said that harrow will take hold better now.  I loaded the harrow and got on it, and tore that ground up three or four inches deep.

“The harrow teeth were sharp.  I harrowed and rolled it and my neighbor said, ’Terry, you are ruining that land, it will never grow anything any more, it will all blow away.’  I reminded him of his bargain; I should raise what I pleased and take the crop home.  Every little while, I can’t remember how often, I would go over and harrow and roll that land.  I probably plowed it the first week in April.  For two months that was a sort of savings bank for my work.  I would run over and work that land, occasionally, until, about the first week in June, I had it prepared just as mellow and fine and nice as it was possible to make it.  It was nice enough for flower seeds.”