1 Scarlett sopped the wheat cake in the gravy and put it in her mouth.
2 Early May; wheat springing up in blades like grass; corn and potatoes being planted; the land humming.
3 Fields of springing wheat drew her from the straight propriety of the railroad and she crawled through the rusty barbed-wire fence.
4 She followed a furrow between low wheat blades and a field of rye which showed silver lights as it flowed before the wind.
5 I seen some wheat that must of been five inches high.
6 But the wheat and grass were sleek velvet under the sunset; the prairie clouds were tawny gold; and she swung happily into Main Street.
7 But they were set among elms and lindens on a bluff which looked across the lake to fields of ripened wheat sloping up to green woods.
8 He weighed wagons of wheat on a rough platform-scale, in the cracks of which the kernels sprouted every spring.
9 The farmers want too much for their wheat.
10 We have Nature beaten; we can make her grow wheat; we can keep warm when she sends blizzards.
11 He asked the veterinarian about the value of different breeds of stock; he inquired of Lyman Cass whether or not Einar Gyseldson really had had a yield of forty bushels of wheat to the acre.
12 They pay what they want to for our wheat, but we pay what they want us to for their clothes.
13 He glanced across the reeds reflected on the water, the quiver of wavelets like crumpled tinfoil, the distant shores patched with dark woods, silvery oats and deep yellow wheat.
14 I know something about wheat from my farming, and I worked a couple of months in the flour mill at Curlew when I got sick of tailoring.
15 Farmers coming in with sled-loads of wheat complained that Champ could not read the scale, that he seemed always to be watching some one back in the darkness of the bins.