All Flesh Is Grass by Clifford D. Simak Read Free Book Online Page A

tomatoes for a while, but you can starve at that sort of work, so I moved on. Did a lot of things. But I’ve been down in Greenbriar for eleven months.”
    â€œThe job can’t last forever. After a while they’ll have all the data they need.”
    He nodded. “I know. I’ll hate to have it end. It’s the best work I ever found. How about it, Brad? Will you go back with me?”
    â€œI’ll have to think about it,” I told him. “Can’t you stay a little longer than that day or two?”
    â€œI suppose I could,” said Alf. “I’ve got two weeks’ vacation.”
    â€œLike to do some fishing?”
    â€œNothing I’d like better.”
    â€œWhat do you say we leave tomorrow morning? Go up north for a week or so? It should be cool up there. I have a tent and a camping outfit. We’ll try to find a place where we can get some wall-eyes.”
    â€œThat sounds fine to me.”
    â€œWe can use my car,” I said.
    â€œI’ll buy the gas,” said Alf.
    â€œThe shape I’m in,” I said, “I’ll let you.”

3
    If it had not been for its pillared front and the gleaming white rail of the widow walk atop its roof, the house would have been plain and stark. There had been a time, I recalled, when I had thought of it as the most beautiful house in the entire world. But it had been six or seven years since I had been at the Sherwood house.
    I parked the car and got out and stood for a moment, looking at the house. It was not fully dark as yet and the four great pillars gleamed softly in the fading light of day. There were no lights in the front part of the house, but I could see that they had been turned on somewhere in the back.
    I went up the shallow steps and across the porch. I found the bell and rang.
    Footsteps came down the hall, a hurrying woman’s footsteps. More than likely, I thought, it was Mrs. Flaherty. She had been housekeeper for the family since that time Mrs. Sherwood had left the house, never to return.
    But it wasn’t Mrs. Flaherty.
    The door came open and she stood there, more mature than I remembered her, more poised, more beautiful than ever.
    â€œNancy!” I exclaimed. “Why, you must be Nancy!”
    It was not what I would have said if I’d had time to think about it.
    â€œYes,” she said, “I’m Nancy. Why be so surprised?”
    â€œBecause I thought you weren’t here. When did you get home?”
    â€œJust yesterday,” she said.
    And, I thought, she doesn’t know me. She knows that she should know me. She’s trying to remember.
    â€œBrad,” she said, proving I was wrong, “it’s silly just to stand there. Why don’t you come in.”
    I stepped outside and she closed the door and we were facing one another in the dimness of the hall.
    She reached out and laid her fingers on the lapel of my coat. “It’s been a long time, Brad,” she said. “How is everything with you?”
    â€œFine,” I said. “Just fine.”
    â€œThere are not many left, I hear. Not many of the gang.”
    I shook my head. “You sound as if you’re glad to be back home.”
    She laughed, just a flutter of a laugh. “Why, of course I am,” she said. And the laugh was the same as ever, that little burst of spontaneous merriment that had been a part of her.
    Someone stepped out into the hall.
    â€œNancy,” a voice called, “is that the Carter boy?”
    â€œWhy,” Nancy said to me, “I didn’t know that you wanted to see Father.”
    â€œIt won’t take long,” I told her. “Will I see you later?”
    â€œYes, of course,” she said. “We have a lot to talk about.”
    â€œNancy!”
    â€œYes, Father.”
    â€œI’m coming,” I said.
    I strode down the hall toward the figure there. He opened a door and turned on the lights in the room beyond.
    I