if they do not subconsciously stand in awe of the soil?"
So they talked and talked. Jethro found it very easy to speak to this shabby stranger whose vision was so clear. He saw life with all its gingerbread and tinsel torn from it.
"We are all sowers," he said. "As we pass through life we scatter some sort of seed about whether we want to or not. The seed we plant is not always worth the effort. It is not always good wheat."
When at last the stranger left, Jethro Trent stood by the tree and watched him striding briskly down the road. He walked with a slight limp but he was whistling a merry tune.
Jethro felt a surge of contentment flood through him. He had been on the verge of telling the stranger about Scobee, yet something seemed to hold him back. He hated to
talk about his boy's blindness.
