"I never saw so many grape vines in all my life," said Roger.
"No wonder," commented his grandmother. "This is one of the greatest grape-growing districts of the whole United States."
"You don't say so!" cried Roger. "Why is it? Is the soil especially good for them?"
"Do you remember how flat it was in the village of Westfield? We are only just now beginning to climb a little, and you see we are some distance from the station and the station is some distance from the lake."
"That must mean that there's a strip of flat land lying along the lake," guessed Roger.
"That's it exactly," said his grandmother. "It's a strip about a hundred miles long and from two to four miles wide, and it is called the Grape Belt."
"I saw a man in the train this morning reading a newspaper called that," said grandfather.
"I suppose it is published in one of the towns in the Belt," suggested Mrs. Morton. "I've been told that some of the very best grapes in the country were grown here."
"I've read in our geology that sometimes the soil is peculiarly rich in places where there had been water long ages ago," said Roger. "Perhaps this flat strip used to be a part of Lake Erie."
"I dare say," agreed grandfather. "At any rate the soil seems to be just what the grapes like best, and you can see for yourself as we climb up that these vines look less and less thrifty."