Page:Frank Owen - Rare Earth, 1931.djvu/145

 was Ma Linda way back there at the house. He felt sorry for poor old kings and emperors because they did not have Ma Linda about them to make corn pone and to cook savory sausages. And the drone of summer would be about him. Insects buzzing, perhaps practising intricate new notes on their violins, an occasional bird chirping in ecstasy or a cow mooing in the distance. The lot of a cow, Enoch reflected, wasn't so bad if it could be in Galvey. Besides a cow did not have to wear shoes. Enoch hated shoes. He loved to walk barefooted through new-turned soil. It is an undeniable fact that the closer people live to the earth the better they are, morally, physically and spiritually. The classes who live with their feet on the bare earth are undoubtedly the backbone of the country, of any country. There's something rugged, dependable and substantial about them. What rich quality is drawn from the soil that produces such men as Abraham Lincoln, men with their feet planted firmly in the earth but with their eyes turned toward the stars?