Pieces of ice, some as large as hazelnuts, lay about the wagon, and the wild barley lay flat beside the trail.

Not a blade of grass stood upright as far as he could see, and the ruts in which the wheels churned were full of melting hail and water.
It was getting dark when his homestead rose out of the plain; a shadowy group of buildings, marked by two or three twinkling lights.

He was wet and cold, but he stopped by the wheat and nerved himself to see what had happened to the crop.

He had not had much hope, but for all that got something of a shock.

There was no standing grain; the great field looked as if it had been mown.