Explore "Seedtime and Harvest" by Arthur Gask on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The earth is ever a hard master, and the farm was one of that number in Australia, not very distant from a township and yet far enough away to make life lonely for those living in it. He had purposely come home late and night had well fallen when his boots clattered outside the lobby door. He was a big and rather coarse-looking man of 34.
Entering the kitchen he gave his wife a quick look and then turned away his eyes. "I'm late," he remarked carelessly. "I stopped to finish a bit of fencing." He pulled off his sodden boots. "The creek's high tonight and there's more rain coming."