When Dorothy stood in the doorway and looked around, she could see
nothing but the great gray prairie on every side. Not a tree nor a house
broke the broad sweep of the flat country that reached to edge of the sky
in all directions. The sun had baked the plowed land into a gray mass, with
little cracks running through it. Even the glass was not green, for the sun had
burned the tops of the long blades until they were the same gray color to be seen
everywhere. Once the house had been painted, but the sun blistered the paint and
the paint and rains washed it away, and now the house was as dull and gray as everything
else.