He walks across it; his shoes sink almost to the instep in the soft soil.

He sees birds hopping about in it without overcoats.

Surely, he says to himself, this is a favored land.

Here it lies on the latitudes of Labrador, and yet its midwinter fields are as green as ours in the last month of Spring.

At this rate the farmers here must harvest their wheat before the ears of mine are formed.