From the top of the next hill The sound of an old tractor drones. Daddy! Little legs wade through waist high reeds. Little hands knowingly master the art of fence climbing. The smell of green corn stalks, Ugly large bugs! Sometimes only the sound of the Farmall to lead on. Somehow, Daddy always manages to spot his little girl. With an unconvincing attempt at "being mad," He smiles and stops to lift her aboard.