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London, Jack, 1876-1916

"Revolution, and Other Essays"

But to
this day the little girl seeks cover at sight of me, and I know the
mother will never be as cordial as she would otherwise have been.
Came dark, overcast days, stiff, driving winds, and pelting rains,
day on day, without end, and the city folk cowered in their dwelling-
places like flood-beset rats; and like rats, half-drowned and
gasping, when the weather cleared they crawled out and up the green
Piedmont slopes to bask in the blessed sunshine. And they invaded my
field in swarms and droves, crushing the sweet wheat into the earth
and with lustful hands ripping the poppies out by the roots.
"I shall put up the warnings against trespassing," I said.
"Yes," said Bess, with a sigh. "I'm afraid it is necessary."
The day was yet young when she sighed again:
"I'm afraid, O Man, that your signs are of no avail. People have
forgotten how to read, these days."
I went out on the porch. A city nymph, in cool summer gown and
picture hat, paused before one of my newly reared warnings and read
it through with care.


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