And Bull, apparently understanding the sluggish nature of the old mare by sympathy of kind, use to work her to the single plow among the rocks of their clearing.

Here, every autumn, they planted seed that never grew to mature grain.

But that was Bill Campbell's idea of making a home.
Presently Bull came back and settled with a slump into his old place.
"Going to snow ?" asked Harry.
"Yep." "Feel it in the wind ?" It was an old joke among them, for Bull often declared with ridiculous solemnity that he could foretell snow by the change in the air.
"Yep," answered Bull, "I felt the wind." He looked up at them, abashed, but they were too hungry to waste breath with laughter.

They merely sneered at him as he settled back into his book.

And, just as his head bowed, a far shouting swept down at them as the wind veered to a new point.
"Uncle Bill!" said Bull and rose again to open the door.
The others wedged in behind his bulk and stared into the blackness..