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diff --git a/2479-h/2479-h.htm b/2479-h/2479-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c037074 --- /dev/null +++ b/2479-h/2479-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8479 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Friendly Road, by David Grayson (pseud. Of Ray Stannard Baker) + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Friendly Road, by +(AKA David Grayson) Ray Stannard Baker + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Friendly Road + New Adventures in Contentment + +Author: (AKA David Grayson) Ray Stannard Baker + +Release Date: December 13, 2008 [EBook #2479] +Last Updated: March 14, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FRIENDLY ROAD *** + + + + +Produced by Aaron Cannon, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE FRIENDLY ROAD + </h1> + <h1> + New Adventures in Contentment + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By David Grayson (Pseud. of Ray Stannard Baker) + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Author of + “Adventure in Contentment,” + “Adventures in Friendship” + </pre> + <h3> + Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty <br /><br /> Copyright, 1913, by DOUBLEDAY, + PAGE & COMPANY + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Surely it is good to be alive at a time like this.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FRIENDLY ROAD + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A WORD TO HIM WHO OPENS THIS BOOK + </h2> + <p> + I did not plan when I began writing these chapters to make an entire book, + but only to put down the more or less unusual impressions, the events and + adventures, of certain quiet pilgrimages in country roads. But when I had + written down all of these things, I found I had material in plenty. + </p> + <p> + “What shall I call it now that I have written it?” I asked myself. + </p> + <p> + At first I thought I should call it “Adventures on the Road,” or “The + Country Road,” or something equally simple, for I would not have the title + arouse any appetite which the book itself could not satisfy. One pleasant + evening I was sitting on my porch with my dog sleeping near me, and + Harriet not far away rocking and sewing, and as I looked out across the + quiet fields I could see in the distance a curving bit of the town road. I + could see the valley below it and the green hill beyond, and my mind went + out swiftly along the country road which I had so recently travelled on + foot, and I thought with deep satisfaction of all the people I had met on + my pilgrimages—the Country Minister with his problems, the buoyant + Stanleys, Bill Hahn the Socialist, the Vedders in their garden, the Brush + Peddler. I thought of the Wonderful City, and of how for a time I had been + caught up into its life. I thought of the men I met at the livery stable, + especially Healy, the wit, and of that strange Girl of the Street. And it + was good to think of them all living around me, not so very far away, + connected with me through darkness and space by a certain mysterious human + cord. Most of all I love that which I cannot see beyond the hill. + </p> + <p> + “Harriet,” I said aloud, “it grows more wonderful every year how full the + world is of friendly people!” + </p> + <p> + So I got up quickly and came in here to my room, and taking a fresh sheet + of paper I wrote down the title of my new book: + </p> + <p> + “The Friendly Road.” + </p> + <p> + I invite you to travel with me upon this friendly road. You may find, as I + did, something which will cause you for a time, to forget yourself into + contentment. But if you chance to be a truly serious person, put down my + book. Let nothing stay your hurried steps, nor keep you from your way. + </p> + <p> + As for those of us who remain, we will loiter as much as ever we please. + We'll take toll of these spring days, we'll stop wherever evening + overtakes us, we'll eat the food of hospitality—and make friends for + life! + </p> + <p> + DAVID GRAYSON. <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <p> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE FRIENDLY ROAD </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0002"> A WORD TO HIM WHO OPENS THIS BOOK </a><br /><br /> + </p> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </td> + <td> + I LEAVE MY FARM + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </td> + <td> + I WHISTLE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE HOUSE BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </td> + <td> + I AM THE SPECTATOR OF A MIGHTY BATTLE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </td> + <td> + I PLAY THE PART OF A SPECTACLE PEDDLER + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </td> + <td> + AN EXPERIMENT IN HUMAN NATURE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE HEDGE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE MAN POSSESSED + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </td> + <td> + I AM CAUGHT UP INTO LIFE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </td> + <td> + I COME TO GRAPPLE WITH THE CITY + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE RETURN + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. I LEAVE MY FARM + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Is it so small a thing + To have enjoyed the sun, + To have lived light in spring?” + </pre> + <p> + It is eight o'clock of a sunny spring morning. I have been on the road for + almost three hours. At five I left the town of Holt, before six I had + crossed the railroad at a place called Martin's Landing, and an hour ago, + at seven, I could see in the distance the spires of Nortontown. And all + the morning as I came tramping along the fine country roads with my + pack-strap resting warmly on my shoulder, and a song in my throat—just + nameless words to a nameless tune—and all the birds singing, and all + the brooks bright under their little bridges, I knew that I must soon step + aside and put down, if I could, some faint impression of the feeling of + this time and place. I cannot hope to convey any adequate sense of it all—of + the feeling of lightness, strength, clearness, I have as I sit here under + this maple tree—but I am going to write as long as ever I am happy + at it, and when I am no longer happy at it, why, here at my very hand lies + the pleasant country road, stretching away toward newer hills and richer + scenes. + </p> + <p> + Until to-day I have not really been quite clear in my own mind as to the + step I have taken. My sober friend, have you ever tried to do anything + that the world at large considers not quite sensible, not quite sane? Try + it! It is easier to commit a thundering crime. A friend of mine delights + in walking to town bareheaded, and I fully believe the neighbourhood is + more disquieted thereby than it would be if my friend came home drunken or + failed to pay his debts. + </p> + <p> + Here I am then, a farmer, forty miles from home in planting time, taking + his ease under a maple tree and writing in a little book held on his knee! + Is not that the height of absurdity? Of all my friends the Scotch Preacher + was the only one who seemed to understand why it was that I must go away + for a time. Oh, I am a sinful and revolutionary person! + </p> + <p> + When I left home last week, if you could have had a truthful picture of me—for + is there not a photography so delicate that it will catch the dim + thought-shapes which attend upon our lives?—if you could have had + such a truthful picture of me, you would have seen, besides a farmer named + Grayson with a gray bag hanging from his shoulder, a strange company + following close upon his steps. Among this crew you would have made out + easily: + </p> + <p> + Two fine cows. Four Berkshire pigs. One team of gray horses, the old mare + a little lame in her right foreleg. About fifty hens, four cockerels, and + a number of ducks and geese. + </p> + <p> + More than this—I shall offer no explanation in these writings of any + miracles that may appear—you would have seen an entirely respectable + old farmhouse bumping and hobbling along as best it might in the rear. And + in the doorway, Harriet Grayson, in her immaculate white apron, with the + veritable look in her eyes which she wears when I am not comporting myself + with quite the proper decorum. + </p> + <p> + Oh, they would not let me go! How they all followed clamoring after me. My + thoughts coursed backward faster than ever I could run away. If you could + have heard that motley crew of the barnyard as I did—the hens all + cackling, the ducks quacking, the pigs grunting, and the old mare neighing + and stamping, you would have thought it a miracle that I escaped at all. + </p> + <p> + So often we think in a superior and lordly manner of our possessions, + when, as a matter of fact, we do not really possess them, they possess us. + For ten years I have been the humble servant, attending upon the commonest + daily needs of sundry hens, ducks, geese, pigs, bees, and of a fussy and + exacting old gray mare. And the habit of servitude, I find, has worn deep + scars upon me. I am almost like the life prisoner who finds the door of + his cell suddenly open, and fears to escape. Why, I had almost become ALL + farmer. + </p> + <p> + On the first morning after I left home I awoke as usual about five o'clock + with the irresistible feeling that I must do the milking. So well + disciplined had I become in my servitude that I instinctively thrust my + leg out of bed—but pulled it quickly back in again, turned over, + drew a long, luxurious breath, and said to myself: + </p> + <p> + “Avaunt cows! Get thee behind me, swine! Shoo, hens!” + </p> + <p> + Instantly the clatter of mastery to which I had responded so quickly for + so many years grew perceptibly fainter, the hens cackled less + domineeringly, the pigs squealed less insistently, and as for the + strutting cockerel, that lordly and despotic bird stopped fairly in the + middle of a crow, and his voice gurgled away in a spasm of astonishment. + As for the old farmhouse, it grew so dim I could scarcely see it at all! + Having thus published abroad my Declaration of Independence, nailed my + defiance to the door, and otherwise established myself as a free person, I + turned over in my bed and took another delicious nap. + </p> + <p> + Do you know, friend, we can be free of many things that dominate our lives + by merely crying out a rebellious “Avaunt!” + </p> + <p> + But in spite of this bold beginning, I assure you it required several days + to break the habit of cows and hens. The second morning I awakened again + at five o'clock, but my leg did not make for the side of the bed; the + third morning I was only partially awakened, and on the fourth morning I + slept like a millionaire (or at least I slept as a millionaire is supposed + to sleep!) until the clock struck seven. + </p> + <p> + For some days after I left home—and I walked out as casually that + morning as though I were going to the barn—I scarcely thought or + tried to think of anything but the Road. Such an unrestrained sense of + liberty, such an exaltation of freedom, I have not known since I was a + lad. When I came to my farm from the city many years ago it was as one + bound, as one who had lost out in the World's battle and was seeking to + get hold again somewhere upon the realities of life. I have related + elsewhere how I thus came creeping like one sore wounded from the field of + battle, and how, among our hills, in the hard, steady labour in the soil + of the fields, with new and simple friends around me, I found a sort of + rebirth or resurrection. I that was worn out, bankrupt both physically and + morally, learned to live again. I have achieved something of high + happiness in these years, something I know of pure contentment; and I have + learned two or three deep and simple things about life: I have learned + that happiness is not to be had for the seeking, but comes quietly to him + who pauses at his difficult task and looks upward. I have learned that + friendship is very simple, and, more than all else, I have learned the + lesson of being quiet, of looking out across the meadows and hills, and of + trusting a little in God. + </p> + <p> + And now, for the moment, I am regaining another of the joys of youth—that + of the sense of perfect freedom. I made no plans when I left home, I + scarcely chose the direction in which I was to travel, but drifted out, as + a boy might, into the great busy world. Oh, I have dreamed of that! It + seems almost as though, after ten years, I might again really touch the + highest joys of adventure! + </p> + <p> + So I took the Road as it came, as a man takes a woman, for better or worse—I + took the Road, and the farms along it, and the sleepy little villages, and + the streams from the hillsides—all with high enjoyment. They were + good coin in my purse! And when I had passed the narrow horizon of my + acquaintanceship, and reached country new to me, it seemed as though every + sense I had began to awaken. I must have grown dull, unconsciously, in the + last years there on my farm. I cannot describe the eagerness of discovery + I felt at climbing each new hill, nor the long breath I took at the top of + it as I surveyed new stretches of pleasant countryside. + </p> + <p> + Assuredly this is one of the royal moments of all the year—fine, + cool, sparkling spring weather. I think I never saw the meadows richer and + greener—and the lilacs are still blooming, and the catbirds and + orioles are here. The oaks are not yet in full leaf, but the maples have + nearly reached their full mantle of verdure—they are very beautiful + and charming to see. + </p> + <p> + It is curious how at this moment of the year all the world seems astir. I + suppose there is no moment in any of the seasons when the whole army of + agriculture, regulars and reserves, is so fully drafted for service in the + fields. And all the doors and windows, both in the little villages and on + the farms, stand wide open to the sunshine, and all the women and girls + are busy in the yards and gardens. Such a fine, active, gossipy, + adventurous world as it is at this moment of the year! + </p> + <p> + It is the time, too, when all sorts of travelling people are afoot. People + who have been mewed up in the cities for the winter now take to the open + road—all the peddlers and agents and umbrella-menders, all the + nursery salesmen and fertilizer agents, all the tramps and scientists and + poets—all abroad in the wide sunny roads. They, too, know well this + hospitable moment of the spring; they, too, know that doors and hearts are + open and that even into dull lives creeps a bit of the spirit of + adventure. Why, a farmer will buy a corn planter, feed a tramp, or listen + to a poet twice as easily at this time of year as at any other! + </p> + <p> + For several days I found myself so fully occupied with the bustling life + of the Road that I scarcely spoke to a living soul, but strode straight + ahead. The spring has been late and cold: most of the corn and some of the + potatoes are not yet in, and the tobacco lands are still bare and brown. + Occasionally I stopped to watch some ploughman in the fields: I saw with a + curious, deep satisfaction how the moist furrows, freshly turned, + glistened in the warm sunshine. There seemed to be something right and fit + about it, as well as human and beautiful. Or at evening I would stop to + watch a ploughman driving homeward across his new brown fields, raising a + cloud of fine dust from the fast drying furrow crests. The low sun shining + through the dust and glorifying it, the weary-stepping horses, the man all + sombre-coloured like the earth itself and knit into the scene as though a + part of it, made a picture exquisitely fine to see. + </p> + <p> + And what a joy I had also of the lilacs blooming in many a dooryard, the + odour often trailing after me for a long distance in the road, and of the + pungent scent at evening in the cool hollows of burning brush heaps and + the smell of barnyards as I went by—not unpleasant, not offensive—and + above all, the deep, earthy, moist odour of new-ploughed fields. + </p> + <p> + And then, at evening, to hear the sound of voices from the dooryards as I + pass quite unseen; no words, but just pleasant, quiet intonations of human + voices, borne through the still air, or the low sounds of cattle in the + barnyards, quieting down for the night, and often, if near a village, the + distant, slumbrous sound of a church bell, or even the rumble of a train—how + good all these sounds are! They have all come to me again this week with + renewed freshness and impressiveness. I am living deep again! + </p> + <p> + It was not, indeed, until last Wednesday that I began to get my fill, + temporarily, of the outward satisfaction of the Road—the primeval + takings of the senses—the mere joys of seeing, hearing, smelling, + touching. But on that day I began to wake up; I began to have a desire to + know something of all the strange and interesting people who are working + in their fields, or standing invitingly in their doorways, or so busily + afoot in the country roads. Let me add, also, for this is one of the most + important parts of my present experience, that this new desire was far + from being wholly esoteric. I had also begun to have cravings which would + not in the least be satisfied by landscapes or dulled by the sights and + sounds of the road. A whiff here and there from a doorway at mealtime had + made me long for my own home, for the sight of Harriet calling from the + steps: + </p> + <p> + “Dinner, David.” + </p> + <p> + But I had covenanted with myself long before starting that I would + literally “live light in spring.” It was the one and primary condition I + made with myself—and made with serious purpose—and when I came + away I had only enough money in my pocket and sandwiches in my pack to see + me through the first three or four days. Any man may brutally pay his way + anywhere, but it is quite another thing to be accepted by your humankind + not as a paid lodger but as a friend. Always, it seems to me, I have + wanted to submit myself, and indeed submit the stranger, to that test. + Moreover, how can any man look for true adventure in life if he always + knows to a certainty where his next meal is coming from? In a world so + completely dominated by goods, by things, by possessions, and smothered by + security, what fine adventure is left to a man of spirit save the + adventure of poverty? + </p> + <p> + I do not mean by this the adventure of involuntary poverty, for I maintain + that involuntary poverty, like involuntary riches, is a credit to no man. + It is only as we dominate life that we really live. What I mean here, if I + may so express it, is an adventure in achieved poverty. In the lives of + such true men as Francis of Assisi and Tolstoi, that which draws the world + to them in secret sympathy is not that they lived lives of poverty, but + rather, having riches at their hands, or for the very asking, that they + chose poverty as the better way of life. + </p> + <p> + As for me, I do not in the least pretend to have accepted the final logic + of an achieved poverty. I have merely abolished temporarily from my life a + few hens and cows, a comfortable old farmhouse, and—certain other + emoluments and hereditaments—but remain the slave of sundry cloth + upon my back and sundry articles in my gray bag—including a fat + pocket volume or so, and a tin whistle. Let them pass now. To-morrow I may + wish to attempt life with still less. I might survive without my battered + copy of “Montaigne” or even submit to existence without that sense of + distant companionship symbolized by a postage-stamp, and as for trousers— + </p> + <p> + In this deceptive world, how difficult of attainment is perfection! + </p> + <p> + No, I expect I shall continue for a long time to owe the worm his silk, + the beast his hide, the sheep his wool, and the cat his perfume! What I am + seeking is something as simple and as quiet as the trees or the hills—just + to look out around me at the pleasant countryside, to enjoy a little of + this show, to meet (and to help a little if I may) a few human beings, and + thus to get nearly into the sweet kernel of human life. My friend, you may + or may not think this a worthy object; if you do not, stop here, go no + further with me; but if you do, why, we'll exchange great words on the + road; we'll look up at the sky together, we'll see and hear the finest + things in this world! We'll enjoy the sun! We'll live light in spring! + </p> + <p> + Until last Tuesday, then, I was carried easily and comfortably onward by + the corn, the eggs, and the honey of my past labours, and before Wednesday + noon I began to experience in certain vital centres recognizable symptoms + of a variety of discomfort anciently familiar to man. And it was all the + sharper because I did not know how or where I could assuage it. In all my + life, in spite of various ups and downs in a fat world, I don't think I + was ever before genuinely hungry. Oh, I've been hungry in a reasonable, + civilized way, but I have always known where in an hour or so I could get + all I wanted to eat—a condition accountable, in this world, I am + convinced, for no end of stupidity. But to be both physically and, let us + say, psychologically hungry, and not to know where or how to get anything + to eat, adds something to the zest of life. + </p> + <p> + By noon on Wednesday, then, I was reduced quite to a point of necessity. + But where was I to begin, and how? I know from long experience the + suspicion with which the ordinary farmer meets the Man of the Road—the + man who appears to wish to enjoy the fruits of the earth without working + for them with his hands. It is a distrust deep-seated and ages old. Nor + can the Man of the Road ever quite understand the Man of the Fields. And + here was I, for so long the stationary Man of the Fields, essaying the + role of the Man of the Road. I experienced a sudden sense of the + enlivenment of the faculties: I must now depend upon wit or cunning or + human nature to win my way, not upon mere skill of the hand or strength in + the bent back. Whereas in my former life, when I was assailed by a Man of + the Road, whether tramp or peddler or poet, I had only to stand + stock-still within my fences and say nothing—though indeed I never + could do that, being far too much interested in every one who came my way—and + the invader was soon repelled. There is nothing so resistant as the dull + security of possession the stolidity of ownership! + </p> + <p> + Many times that day I stopped by a field side or at the end of a lane, or + at a house-gate, and considered the possibilities of making an attack. Oh, + I measured the houses and barns I saw with a new eye! The kind of country + I had known so long and familiarly became a new and foreign land, full of + strange possibilities. I spied out the men in the fields and did not fail, + also, to see what I could of the commissary department of each farmstead + as I passed. I walked for miles looking thus for a favourable opening—and + with a sensation of embarrassment at once disagreeable and pleasurable. As + the afternoon began to deepen I saw that I must absolutely do something: a + whole day tramping in the open air without a bite to eat is an + irresistible argument. + </p> + <p> + Presently I saw from the road a farmer and his son planting potatoes in a + sloping field. There was no house at all in view. At the bars stood a + light wagon half filled with bags of seed potatoes, and the horse which + had drawn it stood quietly, not far off, tied to the fence. The man and + the boy, each with a basket on his arm, were at the farther end of the + field, dropping potatoes. I stood quietly watching them. They stepped + quickly and kept their eyes on the furrows: good workers. I liked the + looks of them. I liked also the straight, clean furrows; I liked the + appearance of the horse. + </p> + <p> + “I will stop here,” I said to myself. + </p> + <p> + I cannot at all convey the sense of high adventure I had as I stood there. + Though I had not the slightest idea of what I should do or say, yet I was + determined upon the attack. + </p> + <p> + Neither father nor son saw me until they had nearly reached the end of the + field. + </p> + <p> + “Step lively, Ben,” I heard the man say with some impatience; “we've got + to finish this field to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “I AM steppin' lively, dad,” responded the boy, “but it's awful hot. We + can't possibly finish to-day. It's too much.” + </p> + <p> + “We've got to get through here to-day,” the man replied grimly; “we're + already two weeks late.” + </p> + <p> + I know just how the man felt; for I knew well the difficulty a farmer has + in getting help in planting time. The spring waits for no man. My heart + went out to the man and boy struggling there in the heat of their field. + For this is the real warfare of the common life. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” I said to myself with a curious lift of the heart, “they have need + of a fellow just like me.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment the boy saw me and, missing a step in the rhythm of the + planting, the father also looked up and saw me. But neither said a word + until the furrows were finished, and the planters came to refill their + baskets. + </p> + <p> + “Fine afternoon,” I said, sparring for an opening. + </p> + <p> + “Fine,” responded the man rather shortly, glancing up from his work. I + recalled the scores of times I had been exactly in his place, and had + glanced up to see the stranger in the road. + </p> + <p> + “Got another basket handy?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “There is one somewhere around here,” he answered not too cordially. The + boy said nothing at all, but eyed me with absorbing interest. The gloomy + look had already gone from his face. + </p> + <p> + I slipped my gray bag from my shoulder, took off my coat, and put them + both down inside the fence. Then I found the basket and began to fill it + from one of the bags. Both man and boy looked up at me questioningly. I + enjoyed the situation immensely. + </p> + <p> + “I heard you say to your son,” I said, “that you'd have to hurry in order + to get in your potatoes to-day. I can see that for myself. Let me take a + hand for a row or two.” + </p> + <p> + The unmistakable shrewd look of the bargainer came suddenly into the man's + face, but when I went about my business without hesitation or questioning, + he said nothing at all. As for the boy, the change in his countenance was + marvellous to see. Something new and astonishing had come into the world. + Oh, I know what a thing it is to be a boy and to work in trouting time! + </p> + <p> + “How near are you planting, Ben?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “About fourteen inches.” + </p> + <p> + So we began in fine spirits. I was delighted with the favourable beginning + of my enterprise; there is nothing which so draws men together as their + employment at a common task. + </p> + <p> + Ben was a lad some fifteen years old-very stout and stocky, with a fine + open countenance and a frank blue eye—all boy. His nose was as + freckled as the belly of a trout. The whole situation, including the + prospect of help in finishing a tiresome job, pleased him hugely. He stole + a glimpse from time to time at me then at his father. Finally he said: + </p> + <p> + “Say, you'll have to step lively to keep up with dad.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll show you,” I said, “how we used to drop potatoes when I was a boy.” + </p> + <p> + And with that I began to step ahead more quickly and make the pieces + fairly fly. + </p> + <p> + “We old fellows,” I said to the father, “must give these young sprouts a + lesson once in a while.” + </p> + <p> + “You will, will you?” responded the boy, and instantly began to drop the + potatoes at a prodigious speed. The father followed with more dignity, but + with evident amusement, and so we all came with a rush to the end of the + row. + </p> + <p> + “I guess that beats the record across THIS field!” remarked the lad, + puffing and wiping his forehead. “Say, but you're a good one!” + </p> + <p> + It gave me a peculiar thrill of pleasure; there is nothing more pleasing + than the frank admiration of a boy. + </p> + <p> + We paused a moment and I said to the man: “This looks like fine potato + land.” + </p> + <p> + “The' ain't any better in these parts,” he replied with some pride in his + voice. + </p> + <p> + And so we went at the planting again: and as we planted we had great talk + of seed potatoes and the advantages and disadvantages of mechanical + planters, of cultivating and spraying, and all the lore of prices and + profits. Once we stopped at the lower end of the field to get a drink from + a jug of water set in the shade of a fence corner, and once we set the + horse in the thills and moved the seed farther up the field. And tired and + hungry as I felt I really enjoyed the work; I really enjoyed talking with + this busy father and son, and I wondered what their home life was like and + what were their real ambitions and hopes. Thus the sun sank lower and + lower, the long shadows began to creep into the valleys, and we came + finally toward the end of the field. Suddenly the boy Ben cried out: + </p> + <p> + “There's Sis!” + </p> + <p> + I glanced up and saw standing near the gateway a slim, bright girl of + about twelve in a fresh gingham dress. + </p> + <p> + “We're coming!” roared Ben, exultantly. + </p> + <p> + While we were hitching up the horse, the man said to me: + </p> + <p> + “You'll come down with us and have some supper.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I will,” I replied, trying not to make my response too eager. + </p> + <p> + “Did mother make gingerbread to-day?” I heard the boy whisper audibly. + </p> + <p> + “Sh-h—” replied the girl, “who is that man?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> don't know” with a great accent of mystery—“and dad don't + know. Did mother make gingerbread?” + </p> + <p> + “Sh-h—he'll hear you.” + </p> + <p> + “Gee! but he can plant potatoes. He dropped down on us out of a clear + sky.” + </p> + <p> + “What is he?” she asked. “A tramp?” + </p> + <p> + “Nope, not a tramp. He works. But, Sis, did mother make gingerbread?” + </p> + <p> + So we all got into the light wagon and drove briskly out along the shady + country road. The evening was coming on, and the air was full of the scent + of blossoms. We turned finally into a lane and thus came promptly, for the + horse was as eager as we, to the capacious farmyard. A motherly woman came + out from the house, spoke to her son, and nodded pleasantly to me. There + was no especial introduction. I said merely, “My name is Grayson,” and I + was accepted without a word. + </p> + <p> + I waited to help the man, whose name I had now learned—it was + Stanley—with his horse and wagon, and then we came up to the house. + Near the back door there was a pump, with a bench and basin set just + within a little cleanly swept, open shed. Rolling back my collar and + baring my arms I washed myself in the cool water, dashing it over my head + until I gasped, and then stepping back, breathless and refreshed, I found + the slim girl, Mary, at my elbow with a clean soft towel. As I stood + wiping quietly I could smell the ambrosial odours from the kitchen. In all + my life I never enjoyed a moment more than that, I think. + </p> + <p> + “Come in now,” said the motherly Mrs. Stanley. + </p> + <p> + So we filed into the roomy kitchen, where an older girl, called Kate, was + flying about placing steaming dishes upon the table. There was also an + older son, who had been at the farm chores. It was altogether a fine, + vigorous, independent American family. So we all sat down and drew up our + chairs. Then we paused a moment, and the father, bowing his head, said in + a low voice: + </p> + <p> + “For all Thy good gifts, Lord, we thank Thee. Preserve us and keep us + through another night.” + </p> + <p> + I suppose it was a very ordinary farm meal, but it seems to me I never + tasted a better one. The huge piles of new baked bread, the sweet farm + butter, already delicious with the flavour of new grass, the bacon and + eggs, the potatoes, the rhubarb sauce, the great plates of new, hot + gingerbread and, at the last, the custard pie—a great wedge of it, + with fresh cheese. After the first ravenous appetite of hardworking men + was satisfied, there came to be a good deal of lively conversation. The + girls had some joke between them which Ben was trying in vain to fathom. + The older son told how much milk a certain Alderney cow had given, and Mr. + Stanley, quite changed now as he sat at his own table from the rather grim + farmer of the afternoon, revealed a capacity for a husky sort of fun, + joking Ben about his potato-planting and telling in a lively way of his + race with me. As for Mrs. Stanley, she sat smiling behind her tall coffee + pot, radiating good cheer and hospitality. They asked me no questions at + all, and I was so hungry and tired that I volunteered no information. + </p> + <p> + After supper we went out for half or three quarters of an hour to do some + final chores, and Mr. Stanley and I stopped in the cattle yard and looked + over the cows, and talked learnedly about the pigs, and I admired his + spring calves to his hearts content, for they really were a fine lot. When + we came in again the lamps had been lighted in the sitting-room and the + older daughter was at the telephone exchanging the news of the day with + some neighbour—and with great laughter and enjoyment. Occasionally + she would turn and repeat some bit of gossip to the family, and Mrs. + Stanley would claim: + </p> + <p> + “Do tell!” + </p> + <p> + “Can't we have a bit of music to-night?” inquired Mr. Stanley. + </p> + <p> + Instantly Ben and the slim girl, Mary, made a wild dive for the front room—the + parlour—and came out with a first-rate phonograph which they placed + on the table. + </p> + <p> + “Something lively now,” said Mr. Stanley. + </p> + <p> + So they put on a rollicking negro song called. “My Georgia Belle,” which, + besides the tuneful voices, introduced a steamboat whistle and a musical + clangour of bells. When it wound up with a bang, Mr. Stanley took his big + comfortable pipe out of his mouth and cried out: + </p> + <p> + “Fine, fine!” + </p> + <p> + We had further music of the same sort and with one record the older + daughter, Kate, broke into the song with a full, strong though + uncultivated voice—which pleased us all very much indeed. + </p> + <p> + Presently Mrs. Stanley, who was sitting under the lamp with a basket of + socks to mend, began to nod. + </p> + <p> + “Mother's giving the signal,” said the older son. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I'm not a bit sleepy,” exclaimed Mrs. Stanley. + </p> + <p> + But with further joking and laughing the family began to move about. The + older daughter gave me a hand lamp and showed me the way upstairs to a + little room at the end of the house. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” she said with pleasant dignity, “you will find everything you + need.” + </p> + <p> + I cannot tell with what solid pleasure I rolled into bed or how soundly + and sweetly I slept. + </p> + <p> + This was the first day of my real adventures. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. I WHISTLE + </h2> + <p> + When I was a boy I learned after many discouragements to play on a tin + whistle. There was a wandering old fellow in our town who would sit for + hours on the shady side of a certain ancient hotel-barn, and with his + little whistle to his lips, and gently swaying his head to his tune and + tapping one foot in the gravel, he would produce the most wonderful and + beguiling melodies. His favourite selections were very lively; he played, + I remember, “Old Dan Tucker,” and “Money Musk,” and the tune of a + rollicking old song, now no doubt long forgotten, called “Wait for the + Wagon.” I can see him yet, with his jolly eyes half closed, his lips + puckered around the whistle, and his fingers curiously and stiffly poised + over the stops. I am sure I shall never forget the thrill which his music + gave to the heart of a certain barefoot boy. + </p> + <p> + At length, by means I have long since forgotten, I secured a tin whistle + exactly like Old Tom Madison's and began diligently to practise such tunes + as I knew. I am quite sure now that I must have made a nuisance of myself, + for it soon appeared to be the set purpose of every member of the family + to break up my efforts. Whenever my father saw me with the whistle to my + lips, he would instantly set me at some useful work (oh, he was an adept + in discovering useful work to do—for a boy!). And at the very sight + of my stern aunt I would instantly secrete my whistle in my blouse and fly + for the garret or cellar, like a cat caught in the cream. Such are the + early tribulations of musical genius! + </p> + <p> + At last I discovered a remote spot on a beam in the hay-barn where, + lighted by a ray of sunlight which came through a crack in the eaves and + pointed a dusty golden finger into that hay-scented interior, I practised + rapturously and to my heart's content upon my tin whistle. I learned + “Money Musk” until I could play it in Old Tom Madison's best style—even + to the last nod and final foot-tap. I turned a certain church hymn called + “Yield Not to Temptation” into something quite inspiriting, and I played + “Marching Through Georgia” until all the “happy hills of hay” were to the + fervid eye of a boy's imagination full of tramping soldiers. Oh, I shall + never forget the joys of those hours in the hay-barn, nor the music of + that secret tin whistle! I can hear yet the crooning of the pigeons in the + eaves, and the slatey sound of their wings as they flew across the open + spaces in the great barn; I can smell yet the odour of the hay. + </p> + <p> + But with years, and the city, and the shame of youth, I put aside and + almost forgot the art of whistling. When I was preparing for the present + pilgrimage, however, it came to me with a sudden thrill of pleasure that + nothing in the wide world now prevented me from getting a whistle and + seeing whether I had forgotten my early cunning. At the very first + good-sized town I came to I was delighted to find at a little candy and + toy shop just the sort of whistle I wanted, at the extravagant price of + ten cents. I bought it and put it in the bottom of my knapsack. + </p> + <p> + “Am I not old enough now,” I said to myself, “to be as youthful as I + choose?” + </p> + <p> + Isn't it the strangest thing in the world how long it takes us to learn to + accept the joys of simple pleasures?—and some of us never learn at + all. “Boo!” says the neighbourhood, and we are instantly frightened into + doing a thousand unnecessary and unpleasant things, or prevented from + doing a thousand beguiling things. + </p> + <p> + For the first few days I was on the road I thought often with pleasure of + the whistle lying there in my bag, but it was not until after I left the + Stanleys' that I felt exactly in the mood to try it. + </p> + <p> + The fact is, my adventures on the Stanley farm had left me in a very + cheerful frame of mind. They convinced me that some of the great things I + had expected of my pilgrimage were realizable possibilities. Why, I had + walked right into the heart of as fine a family as I have seen these many + days. + </p> + <p> + I remained with them the entire day following the potato-planting. We were + out at five o'clock in the morning, and after helping with the chores, and + eating a prodigious breakfast, we went again to the potato-field, and part + of the time I helped plant a few remaining rows, and part of the time I + drove a team attached to a wing-plow to cover the planting of the previous + day. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon a slashing spring rain set in, and Mr. Stanley, who was a + forehanded worker, found a job for all of us in the barn. Ben, the younger + son, and I sharpened mower-blades and a scythe or so, Ben turning the + grindstone and I holding the blades and telling him stories into the + bargain. Mr. Stanley and his stout older son overhauled the work-harness + and tinkered the corn-planter. The doors at both ends of the barn stood + wide open, and through one of them, framed like a picture, we could see + the scudding floods descend upon the meadows, and through the other, + across a fine stretch of open country, we could see all the roads + glistening and the treetops moving under the rain. + </p> + <p> + “Fine, fine!” exclaimed Mr. Stanley, looking out from time to time, “we + got in our potatoes just in the nick of time.” + </p> + <p> + After supper that evening I told them of my plan to leave them on the + following morning. + </p> + <p> + “Don't do that,” said Mrs. Stanley heartily; “stay on with us.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Stanley, “we're shorthanded, and I'd be glad to have a man + like you all summer. There ain't any one around here will pay a good man + more'n I will, nor treat 'im better.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure of it, Mr. Stanley,” I said, “but I can't stay with you.” + </p> + <p> + At that the tide of curiosity which I had seen rising ever since I came + began to break through. Oh, I know how difficult it is to let the wanderer + get by without taking toll of him! There are not so many people here in + the country that we can afford to neglect them. And as I had nothing in + the world to conceal, and, indeed, loved nothing better than the give and + take of getting acquainted, we were soon at it in good earnest. + </p> + <p> + But it was not enough to tell them that my name was David Grayson and + where my farm was located, and how many acres there were, and how much + stock I had, and what I raised. The great particular “Why?”—as I + knew it would be—concerned my strange presence on the road at this + season of the year and the reason why I should turn in by chance, as I had + done, to help at their planting. If a man is stationary, it seems quite + impossible for him to imagine why any one should care to wander; and as + for the wanderer it is inconceivable to him how any one can remain + permanently at home. + </p> + <p> + We were all sitting comfortably around the table in the living-room. The + lamps were lighted, and Mr. Stanley, in slippers, was smoking his pipe and + Mrs. Stanley was darning socks over a mending-gourd, and the two young + Stanleys were whispering and giggling about some matter of supreme + consequence to youth. The windows were open, and we could smell the sweet + scent of the lilacs from the yard and hear the drumming of the rain as it + fell on the roof of the porch. + </p> + <p> + “It's easy to explain,” I said. “The fact is, it got to the point on my + farm that I wasn't quite sure whether I owned it or it owned me. And I + made up my mind I'd get away for a while from my own horses and cattle and + see what the world was like. I wanted to see how people lived up here, and + what they are thinking about, and how they do their farming.” + </p> + <p> + As I talked of my plans and of the duty one had, as I saw it, to be a good + broad man as well as a good farmer, I grew more and more interested and + enthusiastic. Mr. Stanley took his pipe slowly from his mouth, held it + poised until it finally went out, and sat looking at me with a rapt + expression. I never had a better audience. Finally, Mr. Stanley said very + earnestly: + </p> + <p> + “And you have felt that way, too?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, father!” exclaimed Mrs. Stanley, in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Stanley hastily put his pipe back into his mouth and confusedly + searched in his pockets for a match; but I knew I had struck down deep + into a common experience. Here was this brisk and prosperous farmer having + his dreams too—dreams that even his wife did not know! + </p> + <p> + So I continued my talk with even greater fervour. I don't think that the + boy Ben understood all that I said, for I was dealing with experiences + common mostly to older men, but he somehow seemed to get the spirit of it, + for quite unconsciously he began to hitch his chair toward me, then he + laid his hand on my chair-arm and finally and quite simply he rested his + arm against mine and looked at me with all his eyes. I keep learning that + there is nothing which reaches men's hearts like talking straight out the + convictions and emotions of your innermost soul. Those who hear you may + not agree with you, or they may not understand you fully, but something + incalculable, something vital, passes. And as for a boy or girl it is one + of the sorriest of mistakes to talk down to them; almost always your lad + of fifteen thinks more simply, more fundamentally, than you do; and what + he accepts as good coin is not facts or precepts, but feelings and + convictions—LIFE. And why shouldn't we speak out? + </p> + <p> + “I long ago decided,” I said, “to try to be fully what I am and not to be + anything or anybody else.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right, that's right,” exclaimed Mr. Stanley, nodding his head + vigorously. + </p> + <p> + “It's about the oldest wisdom there is,” I said, and with that I thought + of the volume I carried in my pocket, and straightway I pulled it out and + after a moment's search found the passage I wanted. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” I said, “to what this old Roman philosopher said”—and I + held the book up to the lamp and read aloud: + </p> + <p> + “'You can be invincible if you enter into no contest in which it is not in + your power to conquer. Take care, then, when you observe a man honoured + before others or possessed of great power, or highly esteemed for any + reason, not to suppose him happy and be not carried away by the + appearance. For if the nature of the good is in our power, neither envy + nor jealousy will have a place in us. But you yourself will not wish to be + a general or a senator or consul, but a free man, and there is only one + way to do this, to care not for the things which are not in our power.'” + </p> + <p> + “That,” said Mr. Stanley, “is exactly what I've always said, but I didn't + know it was in any book. I always said I didn't want to be a senator or a + legislator, or any other sort of office-holder. It's good enough for me + right here on this farm.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment I glanced down into Ben's shining eyes. + </p> + <p> + “But I want to be a senator or—something—when I grow up,” he + said eagerly. + </p> + <p> + At this the older brother, who was sitting not far off, broke into a + laugh, and the boy, who for a moment had been drawn out of his reserve, + shrank back again and coloured to the hair. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Ben,” said I, putting my hand on his knee, “don't you let anything + stop you. I'll back you up; I'll vote for you.” + </p> + <p> + After breakfast the next morning Mr. Stanley drew me aside and said: + </p> + <p> + “Now I want to pay you for your help yesterday and the day before.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said. “I've had more than value received. You've taken me in like + a friend and brother. I've enjoyed it.” + </p> + <p> + So Mrs. Stanley half filled my knapsack with the finest luncheon I've seen + in many a day, and thus, with as pleasant a farewell as if I'd been a near + relative, I set off up the country road. I was a little distressed in + parting to see nothing of the boy Ben, for I had formed a genuine liking + for him, but upon reaching a clump of trees which hid the house from the + road I saw him standing in the moist grass of a fence corner. + </p> + <p> + “I want to say good-bye,” he said in the gruff voice of embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “Ben,” I said, “I missed you, and I'd have hated to go off without seeing + you again. Walk a bit with me.” + </p> + <p> + So we walked side by side, talking quietly and when at last I shook his + hand I said: + </p> + <p> + “Ben, don't you ever be afraid of acting up to the very best thoughts you + have in your heart.” + </p> + <p> + He said nothing for a moment, and then: “Gee! I'm sorry you're goin' + away!” + </p> + <p> + “Gee!” I responded, “I'm sorry, too!” + </p> + <p> + With that we both laughed, but when I reached the top of the hill, and + looked back, I saw him still standing there bare-footed in the road + looking after me. I waved my hand and he waved his: and I saw him no more. + </p> + <p> + No country, after all, produces any better crop than its inhabitants. And + as I travelled onward I liked to think of these brave, temperate, + industrious, God-friendly American people. I have no fear of the country + while so many of them are still to be found upon the farms and in the + towns of this land. + </p> + <p> + So I tramped onward full of cheerfulness. The rain had ceased, but all the + world was moist and very green and still. I walked for more than two hours + with the greatest pleasure. About ten o'clock in the morning I stopped + near a brook to drink and rest, for I was warm and tired. And it was then + that I bethought me of the little tin pipe in my knapsack, and straightway + I got it out, and, sitting down at the foot of a tree near the brook, I + put it to my lips and felt for the stops with unaccustomed fingers. At + first I made the saddest sort of work of it, and was not a little + disappointed, indeed, with the sound of the whistle itself. It was nothing + to my memory of it! It seemed thin and tinny. + </p> + <p> + However, I persevered at it, and soon produced a recognizable imitation of + Tom Madison's “Old Dan Tucker.” My success quite pleased me, and I became + so absorbed that I quite lost account of the time and place. There was no + one to hear me save a bluejay which for an hour or more kept me company. + He sat on a twig just across the brook, cocking his head at me, and + saucily wagging his tail. Occasionally he would dart off among the trees + crying shrilly; but his curiosity would always get the better of him and + back he would come again to try to solve the mystery of this rival + whistling, which I'm sure was as shrill and as harsh as his own. + </p> + <p> + Presently, quite to my astonishment, I saw a man standing near the + brookside not a dozen paces away from me. How long he had been there I + don't know, for I had heard nothing of his coming. Beyond him in the town + road I could see the head of his horse and the top of his buggy. I said + not a word, but continued with my practising. Why shouldn't I? But it gave + me quite a thrill for the moment; and at once I began to think of the + possibilities of the situation. What a thing it was have so many + unexpected and interesting situations developing! So I nodded my head and + tapped my foot, and blew into my whistle all the more energetically. I + knew my visitor could not possibly keep away. And he could not; presently + he came nearer and said: + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing, neighbour?” + </p> + <p> + I continued a moment with my playing, but commanded him with my eye. + </p> + <p> + Oh, I assure you I assumed all the airs of a virtuoso. When I had finished + my tune I removed my whistle deliberately and wiped my lips. + </p> + <p> + “Why, enjoying myself,” I replied with greatest good humour. “What are you + doing?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” he said, “watching you enjoy yourself. I heard you playing as I + passed in the road, and couldn't imagine what it could be.” + </p> + <p> + I told him I thought it might still be difficult, having heard me near at + hand, to imagine what it could be—and thus, tossing the ball of + good-humoured repartee back and forth, we walked down to the road + together. He had a quiet old horse and a curious top buggy with the + unmistakable box of an agent or peddler built on behind. + </p> + <p> + “My name,” he said, “is Canfield. I fight dust.” + </p> + <p> + “And mine,” I said, “is Grayson. I whistle.” + </p> + <p> + I discovered that he was an agent for brushes, and he opened his box and + showed me the greatest assortment of big and little brushes: bristle + brushes, broom brushes, yarn brushes, wire brushes, brushes for man and + brushes for beast, brushes of every conceivable size and shape that ever I + saw in all my life. He had out one of his especial pets—he called it + his “leader”—and feeling it familiarly in his hand he instinctively + began the jargon of well-handled and voice-worn phrases which went with + that particular brush. It was just as though some one had touched a button + and had started him going. It was amazing to me that any one in the world + should be so much interested in mere brushes—until he actually began + to make me feel that brushes were as interesting as anything else! + </p> + <p> + What a strange, little, dried-up old fellow he was, with his balls of + muttonchop sidewhiskers, his thick eyebrows, and his lively blue eyes!—a + man evidently not readily turned aside by rebuffs. He had already shown + that his wit as a talker had been sharpened by long and varied contact + with a world of reluctant purchasers. I was really curious to know more of + him, so I said finally: + </p> + <p> + “See here, Mr. Canfield, it's just noon. Why not sit down here with me and + have a bit of luncheon?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he responded with alacrity. “As the fellow said, why not?” + </p> + <p> + He unhitched his horse, gave him a drink from the brook, and then tethered + him where he could nip the roadside grass. I opened my bag and explored + the wonders of Mrs. Stanley's luncheon. I cannot describe the absolutely + carefree feeling I had. Always at home, when I would have liked to stop at + the roadside with a stranger, I felt the nudge of a conscience troubled + with cows and corn, but here I could stop where I liked, or go on when I + liked, and talk with whom I pleased, as long as I pleased. + </p> + <p> + So we sat there, the brush-peddler and I, under the trees, and ate Mrs. + Stanley's fine luncheon, drank the clear water from the brook, and talked + great talk. Compared with Mr. Canfield I was a babe at wandering—and + equally at talking. Was there any business he had not been in, or any + place in the country he had not visited? He had sold everything from + fly-paper to threshing-machines, he had picked up a large working + knowledge of the weaknesses of human nature, and had arrived at the age of + sixty-six with just enough available cash to pay the manufacturer for a + new supply of brushes. In strict confidence, I drew certain conclusions + from the colour of his nose! He had once had a family, but dropped them + somewhere along the road. Most of our brisk neighbours would have put him + down as a failure—an old man, and nothing laid by! But I wonder—I + wonder. One thing I am coming to learn in this world, and that is to let + people haggle along with their lives as I haggle along with mine. + </p> + <p> + We both made tremendous inroads on the luncheon, and I presume we might + have sat there talking all the afternoon if I had not suddenly bethought + myself with a not unpleasant thrill that my resting-place for the night + was still gloriously undecided. + </p> + <p> + “Friend,” I said, “I've got to be up and going. I haven't so much as a + penny in my pocket, and I've got to find a place to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + The effect of this remark upon Mr. Canfield was magical. He threw up both + his hands and cried out: + </p> + <p> + “You're that way, are you?”—as though for the first time he really + understood. We were at last on common ground. + </p> + <p> + “Partner,” said he, “you needn't tell nothin' about it. I've been right + there myself.” + </p> + <p> + At once he began to bustle about with great enthusiasm. He was for taking + complete charge of me, and I think, if I had permitted it, would instantly + have made a brush-agent of me. At least he would have carried me along + with him in his buggy; but when he suggested it I felt very much, I think, + as some old monk must have who had taken a vow to do some particular thing + in some particular way. With great difficulty I convinced him finally that + my way was different from his—though he was regally impartial as to + what road he took next—and, finally, with some reluctance, he + started to climb into his buggy. + </p> + <p> + A thought, however, struck him suddenly, and he stepped down again, ran + around to the box at the back of his buggy, opened it with a mysterious + and smiling look at me, and took out a small broom-brush with which he + instantly began brushing off my coat and trousers—in the liveliest + and most exuberant way. When he had finished this occupation, he quickly + handed the brush to me. + </p> + <p> + “A token of esteem,” he said, “from a fellow traveller.” + </p> + <p> + I tried in vain to thank him, but he held up his hand, scrambled quickly + into his buggy, and was for driving off instantly, but paused and beckoned + me toward him. When I approached the buggy, he took hold of one the lapels + of my coat, bent over, and said with the utmost seriousness: + </p> + <p> + “No man ought to take the road without a brush. A good broom-brush is the + world's greatest civilizer. Are you looking seedy or dusty?—why, + this here brush will instantly make you a respectable citizen. Take my + word for it, friend, never go into any strange house without stoppin' and + brushin' off. It's money in your purse! You can get along without dinner + sometimes, or even without a shirt, but without a brush—never! + There's nothin' in the world so necessary to rich AN' poor, old AN' young + as a good brush!” + </p> + <p> + And with a final burst of enthusiasm the brush-peddler drove off up the + hill. I stood watching him and when he turned around I waved the brush + high over my head in token of a grateful farewell. + </p> + <p> + It was a good, serviceable, friendly brush. I carried it throughout my + wanderings; and as I sit here writing in my study, at this moment, I can + see it hanging on a hook at the side of my fireplace. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. THE HOUSE BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD + </h2> + <p> + “Everyone,” remarks Tristram Shandy, “will speak of the fair as his own + market has gone in it.” + </p> + <p> + It came near being a sorry fair for me on the afternoon following my + parting with the amiable brush-peddler. The plain fact is, my success at + the Stanleys', and the easy manner in which I had fallen in with Mr. + Canfield, gave me so much confidence in myself as a sort of Master of the + Road that I proceeded with altogether too much assurance. + </p> + <p> + I am firmly convinced that the prime quality to be cultivated by the + pilgrim is humility of spirit; he must be willing to accept Adventure in + whatever garb she chooses to present herself. He must be able to see the + shining form of the unusual through the dull garments of the normal. + </p> + <p> + The fact is, I walked that afternoon with my head in air and passed many a + pleasant farmstead where men were working in the fields, and many an open + doorway, and a mill or two, and a town—always looking for some Great + Adventure. + </p> + <p> + Somewhere upon this road, I thought to myself, I shall fall in with a + Great Person, or become a part of a Great Incident. I recalled with keen + pleasure the experience of that young Spanish student of Carlyle writes in + one of his volumes, who, riding out from Madrid one day, came unexpectedly + upon the greatest man in the world. This great man, of whom Carlyle + observes (I have looked up the passage since I came home), “a kindlier, + meeker, braver heart has seldom looked upon the sky in this world,” had + ridden out from the city for the last time in his life “to take one other + look at the azure firmament and green mosaic pavements and the strange + carpentry and arras work of this noble palace of a world.” + </p> + <p> + As the old story has it, the young student “came pricking on hastily, + complaining that they went at such a pace as gave him little chance of + keeping up with them. One of the party made answer that the blame lay with + the horse of Don Miguel de Cervantes, whose trot was of the speediest. He + had hardly pronounced the name when the student dismounted and, touching + the hem of Cervantes' left sleeve, said, 'Yes, yes, it is indeed the + maimed perfection, the all-famous, the delightful writer, the joy and + darling of the Muses! You are that brave Miguel.'” + </p> + <p> + It may seem absurd to some in this cool and calculating twentieth century + that any one should indulge in such vain imaginings as I have described—and + yet, why not? All things are as we see them. I once heard a man—a + modern man, living to-day—tell with a hush in his voice, and a + peculiar light in his eye, how, walking in the outskirts of an unromantic + town in New Jersey, he came suddenly upon a vigorous, bearded, rather + rough-looking man swinging his stick as he walked, and stopping often at + the roadside and often looking up at the sky. I shall never forget the + curious thrill in his voice as he said: + </p> + <p> + “And THAT was Walt Whitman.” + </p> + <p> + And thus quite absurdly intoxicated by the possibilities of the road, I + let the big full afternoon slip by—I let slip the rich possibilities + of half a hundred farms and scores of travelling people—and as + evening began to fall I came to a stretch of wilder country with wooded + hills and a dashing stream by the roadside. It was a fine and beautiful + country—to look at—but the farms, and with them the chances of + dinner, and a friendly place to sleep, grew momentarily scarcer. Upon the + hills here and there, indeed, were to be seen the pretentious summer homes + of rich dwellers from the cities, but I looked upon them with no great + hopefulness. + </p> + <p> + “Of all places in the world,” I said to myself, “surely none could be more + unfriendly to a man like me.” + </p> + <p> + But I amused myself with conjectures as to what might happen (until the + adventure seemed almost worth trying) if a dusty man with a bag on his + back should appear at the door of one of those well-groomed + establishments. It came to me, indeed, with a sudden deep sense of + understanding, that I should probably find there, as everywhere else, just + men and women. And with that I fell into a sort of Socratic dialogue with + myself: + </p> + <p> + ME: Having decided that the people in these houses are, after all, merely + men and women, what is the best way of reaching them? + </p> + <p> + MYSELF: Undoubtedly by giving them something they want and have not. + </p> + <p> + ME: But these are rich people from the city; what can they want that they + have not? + </p> + <p> + MYSELF: Believe me, of all people in the world those who want the most are + those who have the most. These people are also consumed with desires. + </p> + <p> + ME: And what, pray, do you suppose they desire? + </p> + <p> + MYSELF: They want what they have not got; they want the unattainable: they + want chiefly the rarest and most precious of all things—a little + mystery in their lives. + </p> + <p> + “That's it!” I said aloud; “that's it! Mystery—the things of the + spirit, the things above ordinary living—is not that the essential + thing for which the world is sighing, and groaning, and longing—consciously, + or unconsciously?” + </p> + <p> + I have always believed that men in their innermost souls desire the + highest, bravest, finest things they can hear, or see, or feel in all the + world. Tell a man how he can increase his income and he will be grateful + to you and soon forget you; but show him the highest, most mysterious + things in his own soul and give him the word which will convince him that + the finest things are really attainable, and he will love and follow you + always. + </p> + <p> + I now began to look with much excitement to a visit at one of the houses + on the hill, but to my disappointment I found the next two that I + approached still closed up, for the spring was not yet far enough advanced + to attract the owners to the country. I walked rapidly onward through the + gathering twilight, but with increasing uneasiness as to the prospects for + the night, and thus came suddenly upon the scene of an odd adventure. + </p> + <p> + From some distance I had seen a veritable palace set high among the trees + and overlooking a wonderful green valley—and, drawing nearer, I saw + evidences of well-kept roadways and a visible effort to make invisible the + attempt to preserve the wild beauty of the place. I saw, or thought I saw, + people on the wide veranda, and I was sure I heard the snort of a climbing + motor-car, but I had scarcely decided to make my way up to the house when + I came, at the turning of the country road, upon a bit of open land laid + out neatly as a garden, near the edge of which, nestling among the trees, + stood a small cottage. It seemed somehow to belong to the great estate + above it, and I concluded, at the first glance, that it was the home of + some caretaker or gardener. + </p> + <p> + It was a charming place to see, and especially the plantation of trees and + shrubs. My eye fell instantly upon a fine magnolia—rare in this + country—which had not yet cast all its blossoms, and I paused for a + moment to look at it more closely. I myself have tried to raise magnolias + near my house, and I know how difficult it is. + </p> + <p> + As I approached nearer to the cottage, I could see a man and woman sitting + on the porch in the twilight and swaying back and forth in rocking-chairs. + I fancied—it may have been only a fancy—that when I first saw + them their hands were clasped as they rocked side by side. + </p> + <p> + It was indeed a charming little cottage. Crimson ramblers, giving promise + of the bloom that was yet to come, climbed over one end of the porch, and + there were fine dark-leaved lilac-bushes near the doorway: oh, a pleasant, + friendly, quiet place! + </p> + <p> + I opened the front gate and walked straight in, as though I had at last + reached my destination. I cannot give any idea of the lift of the heart + with which I entered upon this new adventure. Without the premeditation + and not knowing what I should say or do, I realized that everything + depended upon a few sentences spoken within the next minute or two. + Believe me, this experience to a man who does not know where his next meal + is coming from, nor where he is to spend the night, is well worth having. + It is a marvellous sharpener of the facts. + </p> + <p> + I knew, of course, just how these people of the cottage would ordinarily + regard an intruder whose bag and clothing must infallibly class him as a + follower of the road. And so many followers of the road are—well— + </p> + <p> + As I came nearer, the man and woman stopped rocking, but said nothing. An + old dog that had been sleeping on the top step rose slowly and stood + there. + </p> + <p> + “As I passed your garden,” I said, grasping desperately for a way of + approach, “I saw your beautiful specimen of the magnolia tree—the + one still in blossom. I myself have tried to grow magnolias—but with + small success—and I'm making bold to inquire what variety you are so + successful with.” + </p> + <p> + It was a shot in the air—but I knew from what I had seen that they + must be enthusiastic gardeners. The man glanced around at the magnolia + with evident pride, and was about to answer when the woman rose and with a + pleasant, quiet cordiality said: + </p> + <p> + “Won't you step up and have a chair?” + </p> + <p> + I swung my bag from my shoulder and took the proffered seat. As I did so I + saw, on the table just behind me a number magazines and books—books + of unusual sizes and shapes, indicating that they were not mere summer + novels. + </p> + <p> + “They like books!” I said to myself, with a sudden rise of spirits. + </p> + <p> + “I have tried magnolias, too,” said the man, “but this is the only one + that has been really successful. It is a Chinese white magnolia.” + </p> + <p> + “The one Downing describes?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + This was also a random shot, but I conjectured that if they loved both + books gardens they would know Downing—Bible of the gardener. And if + they did, we belonged to the same church. + </p> + <p> + “The very same,” exclaimed the woman; “it was Downing's enthusiasm for the + Chinese magnolia which led us first to try it.” + </p> + <p> + With that, like true disciples, we fell into great talk of Downing, at + first all in praise of him, and later—for may not the faithful be + permitted latitude in their comments so long as it is all within the + cloister?—we indulged in a bit of higher criticism. + </p> + <p> + “It won't do,” said the man, “to follow too slavishly every detail of + practice as recommended by Downing. We have learned a good many things + since the forties.” + </p> + <p> + “The fact is,” I said, “no literal-minded man should be trusted with + Downing.” + </p> + <p> + “Any more than with the Holy Scriptures,” exclaimed the woman. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly!” I responded with the greatest enthusiasm; “exactly! We go to + him for inspiration, for fundamental teachings, for the great literature + and poetry of the art. Do you remember,” I asked, “that passage in which + Downing quotes from some old Chinaman upon the true secret of the + pleasures of a garden—?” + </p> + <p> + “Do we?” exclaimed the man, jumping up instantly; “do we? Just let me get + the book—” + </p> + <p> + With that he went into the house and came back immediately bringing a lamp + in one hand—for it had grown pretty dark—and a familiar, + portly, blue-bound book in the other. While he was gone the woman said: + </p> + <p> + “You have touched Mr. Vedder in his weakest spot.” + </p> + <p> + “I know of no combination in this world,” said I, “so certain to produce a + happy heart as good books and a farm or garden.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vedder, having returned, slipped on his spectacles, sat forward on the + edge of his rocking-chair, and opened the book with pious hands. + </p> + <p> + “I'll find it,” he said. “I can put my finger right on it.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll find it,” said Mrs. Vedder, “in the chapter on 'Hedges.'” + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong, my dear,” he responded, “it is in 'Mistakes of Citizens in + Country Life.'” + </p> + <p> + He turned the leaves eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, “here it is in 'Rural Taste.' Let me read you the passage, + Mr.—” + </p> + <p> + “Grayson.” + </p> + <p> + “—Mr. Grayson. The Chinaman's name was Lieu-tscheu. 'What is it,' + asks this old Chinaman, 'that we seek in the pleasure of a garden? It has + always been agreed that these plantations should make men amends for + living at a distance from what would be their more congenial and agreeable + dwelling-place—in the midst of nature, free and unrestrained.'” + </p> + <p> + “That's it,” I exclaimed, “and the old Chinaman was right! A garden + excuses civilization.” + </p> + <p> + “It's what brought us here,” said Mrs. Vedder. + </p> + <p> + With that we fell into the liveliest discussion of gardening and farming + and country life in all their phases, resolving that while there were bugs + and blights, and droughts and floods, yet upon the whole there was no life + so completely satisfying as life in which one may watch daily the + unfolding of natural life. + </p> + <p> + A hundred things we talked about freely that had often risen dimly in my + own mind almost to the point—but not quite—of spilling over + into articulate form. The marvellous thing about good conversation is that + it brings to birth so many half-realized thoughts of our own—besides + sowing the seed of innumerable other thought-plants. How they enjoyed + their garden, those two, and not only the garden itself, but all the lore + and poetry of gardening! + </p> + <p> + We had been talking thus an hour or more when, quite unexpectedly, I had + what was certainly one of the most amusing adventures of my whole life. I + can scarcely think of it now without a thrill of pleasure. I have had pay + for my work in many but never such a reward as this. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” said Mr. Vedder, “I have recently come across a book which + is full of the spirit of the garden as we have long known it, although the + author is not treating directly of gardens, but of farming and of human + nature.” + </p> + <p> + “It is really all one subject,” I interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Mr. Vedder, “but many gardeners are nothing but + gardeners. Well, the book to which I refer is called 'Adventures in + Contentment,' and is by—Why, a man of your own name!” + </p> + <p> + With that Mr. Vedder reached for a book—a familiar-looking book—on + the table, but Mrs. Vedder looked at me. I give you my word, my heart + turned entirely over, and in a most remarkable way righted itself again; + and I saw Roman candles and Fourth of July rockets in front of my eyes. + Never in all my experience was I so completely bowled over. I felt like a + small boy who has been caught in the pantry with one hand in the jam-pot—and + plenty of jam on his nose. And like that small boy I enjoyed the jam, but + did not like being caught at it. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vedder had no sooner got the book in his hand than I saw Mrs. Vedder + rising as though she had seen a spectre, and pointing dramatically at me, + she exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “You are David Grayson!” + </p> + <p> + I can say truthfully now that I know how the prisoner at the bar must feel + when the judge, leaning over his desk, looks at him sternly and says: + </p> + <p> + “I declare you guilty of the offence as charged, and sentence you—” + and so on, and so on. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vedder stiffened up, and I can see him yet looking at me through his + glasses. I must have looked as foolishly guilty as any man ever looked, + for Mr. Vedder said promptly: + </p> + <p> + “Let me take you by the hand, sir. We know you, and have known you for a + long time.” + </p> + <p> + I shall not attempt to relate the conversation which followed, nor tell of + the keen joy I had in it—after the first cold plunge. We found that + we had a thousand common interests and enthusiasms. I had to tell them of + my farm, and why I had left it temporarily, and of the experiences on the + road. No sooner had I related what had befallen me at the Stanleys' than + Mrs. Vedder disappeared into the house and came out again presently with a + tray loaded with cold meat, bread, a pitcher of fine milk, and other good + things. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not offer any excuses,” said I, “I'm hungry,” and with that I + laid in, Mr. Vedder helping with the milk, and all three of us talking as + fast as ever we could. + </p> + <p> + It was nearly midnight when at last Mr. Vedder led the way to the + immaculate little bedroom where I spent the night. + </p> + <p> + The next morning I awoke early, and quietly dressing, slipped down to the + garden and walked about among the trees and the shrubs and the + flower-beds. The sun was just coming up over the hill, the air was full of + the fresh odours of morning, and the orioles and cat-birds were singing. + </p> + <p> + In the back of the garden I found a charming rustic arbour with seats + around a little table. And here I sat down to listen to the morning + concert, and I saw, cut or carved upon the table, this verse, which so + pleased me that I copied it in my book: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot! + Rose plot, + Fringed pool, + Ferned grot— + The veriest school of peace; and yet + the fool + Contends that God is not— + Not God! in gardens? when the even + is cool? + Nay, but I have a sign, + 'Tis very sure God walks in mine. +</pre> + <p> + I looked about after copying this verse, and said aloud: + </p> + <p> + “I like this garden: I like these Vedders.” + </p> + <p> + And with that I had a moment of wild enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “I will come,” I said, “and buy a little garden next them, and bring + Harriet, and we will live here always. What's a farm compared with a + friend?” + </p> + <p> + But with that I thought of the Scotch preacher, and of Horace, and Mr. and + Mrs. Starkweather, and I knew I could never leave the friends at home. + </p> + <p> + “It's astonishing how many fine people there are in this world,” I said + aloud; “one can't escape them!” + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, David Grayson,” I heard some one saying, and glancing up I + saw Mrs. Vedder at the doorway. “Are you hungry?” + </p> + <p> + “I am always hungry,” I said. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vedder came out and linking his arm in mine and pointing out various + spireas and Japanese barberries, of which he was very proud, we walked + into the house together. + </p> + <p> + I did not think of it especially at time—Harriet says I never see + anything really worth while, by which she means dishes, dresses, doilies, + and such like but as I remembered afterward the table that Mrs. Vedder set + was wonderfully dainty—dainty not merely with flowers (with which it + was loaded), but with the quality of the china and silver. It was plainly + the table of no ordinary gardener or caretaker—but this conclusion + did not come to me until afterward, for as I remember it, we were in a + deep discussion of fertilizers. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vedder cooked and served breakfast herself, and did it with a skill + almost equal to Harriet's—so skillfully that the talk went on and we + never once heard the machinery of service. + </p> + <p> + After breakfast we all went out into the garden, Mrs. Vedder in an old + straw hat and a big apron, and Mr. Vedder in a pair of old brown overalls. + Two men had appeared from somewhere, and were digging in the vegetable + garden. After giving them certain directions Mr. Vedder and I both found + five-tined forks and went into the rose garden and began turning over the + rich soil, while Mrs. Vedder, with pruning-shears, kept near us, cutting + out the dead wood. + </p> + <p> + It was one of the charming forenoons of my life. This pleasant work, + spiced with the most interesting conversation and interrupted by a hundred + little excursions into other parts of the garden, to see this or that + wonder of vegetation, brought us to dinner-time before we fairly knew it. + </p> + <p> + About the middle of the afternoon I made the next discovery. I heard first + the choking cough of a big motor-car in the country road, and a moment + later it stopped at our gate. I thought I saw the Vedders exchanging + significant glances. A number of merry young people tumbled out, and an + especially pretty girl of about twenty came running through the garden. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” she exclaimed, “you MUST come with us!” + </p> + <p> + “I can't, I can't,” said Mrs. Vedder, “the roses MUST be pruned—and + see! The azaleas are coming into bloom.” + </p> + <p> + With that she presented me to her daughter. + </p> + <p> + And, then, shortly, for it could no longer be concealed, I learned that + Mr. and Mrs. Vedder were not the caretakers but the owners of the estate + and of the great house I had seen on the hill. That evening, with an air + almost of apology, they explained to me how it all came about. + </p> + <p> + “We first came out here,” said Mrs. Vedder, “nearly twenty years ago, and + built the big house on the hill. But the more we came to know of country + life the more we wanted to get down into it. We found it impossible up + there—so many unnecessary things to see to and care for—and we + couldn't—we didn't see—” + </p> + <p> + “The fact is,” Mr. Vedder put in, “we were losing touch with each other.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing like a big house,” said Mrs. Vedder, “to separate a man + and his wife.” + </p> + <p> + “So we came down here,” said Mr. Vedder, “built this little cottage, and + developed this garden mostly with our own hands. We would have sold the + big house long ago if it hadn't been for our friends. They like it.” + </p> + <p> + “I have never heard a more truly romantic story,” said I. + </p> + <p> + And it WAS romantic: these fine people escaping from too many possessions, + too much property, to the peace and quietude of a garden where they could + be lovers again. + </p> + <p> + “It seems, sometimes,” said Mrs. Vedder, “that I never really believed in + God until we came down here—” + </p> + <p> + “I saw the verse on the table in the arbour,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “And it is true,” said Mr. Vedder. “We got a long, long way from God for + many years: here we seem to get back to Him.” + </p> + <p> + I had fully intended to take the road again that afternoon, but how could + any one leave such people as those? We talked again late that night, but + the next morning, at the leisurely Sunday breakfast, I set my hour of + departure with all the firmness I could command. I left them, indeed, + before ten o'clock that forenoon. I shall never forget the parting. They + walked with me to the top of the hill, and there we stopped and looked + back. We could see the cottage half hidden among the trees, and the little + opening that the precious garden made. For a time we stood there quite + silent. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember,” I said presently, “that character in Homer who was a + friend of men and lived in a house by the side of the road? I shall always + think of you as friends of men—you took in a dusty traveller. And I + shall never forget your house by the side of the road.” + </p> + <p> + “The House by the Side of the Road—you have christened it anew, + David Grayson,” exclaimed Mrs. Vedder. + </p> + <p> + And so we parted like old friends, and I left them to return to their + garden, where “'tis very sure God walks.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. I AM THE SPECTATOR OF A MIGHTY BATTLE, IN WHICH CHRISTIAN + MEETS APPOLLYON + </h2> + <p> + It is one of the prime joys of the long road that no two days are ever + remotely alike—no two hours even; and sometimes a day that begins + calmly will end with the most stirring events. + </p> + <p> + It was thus, indeed, with that perfect spring Sunday, when I left my + friends, the Vedders, and turned my face again to the open country. It + began as quietly as any Sabbath morning of my life, but what an end it + had! I would have travelled a thousand miles for the adventures which a + bounteous road that day spilled carelessly into my willing hands. + </p> + <p> + I can give no adequate reason why it should be so, but there are Sunday + mornings in the spring—at least in our country—which seem to + put on, like a Sabbath garment, an atmosphere of divine quietude. Warm, + soft, clear, but, above all, immeasurably serene. + </p> + <p> + Such was that Sunday morning; and I was no sooner well afoot than I + yielded to the ingratiating mood of the day. Usually I am an active + walker, loving the sense of quick motion and the stir it imparts to both + body and mind, but that morning I found myself loitering, looking widely + about me, and enjoying the lesser and quieter aspects of nature. It was a + fine wooded country in which I found myself, and I soon struck off the + beaten road and took to the forest and the fields. In places the ground + was almost covered with meadow-rue, like green shadows on the hillsides, + not yet in seed, but richly umbrageous. In the long green grass of the + meadows shone the yellow star-flowers, and the sweet-flags were blooming + along the marshy edges of the ponds. The violets had disappeared, but they + were succeeded by wild geraniums and rank-growing vetches. + </p> + <p> + I remember that I kept thinking from time to time, all the forenoon, as my + mind went back swiftly and warmly to the two fine friends from whom I had + so recently parted: + </p> + <p> + How the Vedders would enjoy this! Or, I must tell the Vedders that. And + two or three times I found myself in animated conversations with them in + which I generously supplied all three parts. It may be true for some + natures, as Leonardo said, that “if you are alone you belong wholly to + yourself; if you have a companion, you belong only half to yourself”; but + it is certainly not so with me. With me friendship never divides: it + multiplies. A friend always makes me more than I am, better than I am, + bigger than I am. We two make four, or fifteen, or forty. + </p> + <p> + Well, I loitered through the fields and woods for a long time that Sunday + forenoon, not knowing in the least that Chance held me close by the hand + and was leading me onward to great events. I knew, of course, that I had + yet to find a place for the night, and that this might be difficult on + Sunday, and yet I spent that forenoon as a man spends his immortal youth—with + a glorious disregard for the future. + </p> + <p> + Some time after noon—for the sun was high and the day was growing + much warmer—I turned from the road, climbed an inviting little hill, + and chose a spot in an old meadow in the shade of an apple tree and there + I lay down on the grass, and looked up into the dusky shadows of the + branches above me. I could feel the soft airs on my face; I could hear the + buzzing of bees in the meadow flowers, and by turning my head just a + little I could see the slow fleecy clouds, high up, drifting across the + perfect blue of the sky. And the scent of the fields in spring!—he + who has known it, even once, may indeed die happy. + </p> + <p> + Men worship God in various ways: it seemed to me that Sabbath morning, as + I lay quietly there in the warm silence of midday, that I was truly + worshipping God. That Sunday morning everything about me seemed somehow to + be a miracle—a miracle gratefully accepted and explainable only by + the presence of God. There was another strange, deep feeling which I had + that morning, which I have had a few other times in my life at the rare + heights of experience—I hesitate always when I try to put down the + deep, deep things of the human heart—a feeling immeasurably real, + that if I should turn my head quickly I should indeed SEE that Immanent + Presence.... + </p> + <p> + One of the few birds I know that sings through the long midday is the + vireo. The vireo sings when otherwise the woods are still. You do not see + him; you cannot find him; but you know he is there. And his singing is + wild, and shy, and mystical. Often it haunts you like the memory of some + former happiness. That day I heard the vireo singing.... + </p> + <p> + I don't know how long I lay there under the tree in the meadow, but + presently I heard, from no great distance, the sound of a church-bell. It + was ringing for the afternoon service which among the farmers of this part + of the country often takes the place, in summer, of both morning and + evening services. + </p> + <p> + “I believe I'll go,” I said, thinking first of all, I confess, of the + interesting people I might meet there. + </p> + <p> + But when I sat up and looked about me the desire faded, and rummaging in + my bag I came across my tin whistle. Immediately I began practising a tune + called “Sweet Afton,” which I had learned when a boy; and, as I played, my + mood changed swiftly, and I began to smile at myself as a tragically + serious person, and to think of pat phrases with which to characterize the + execrableness of my attempts upon the tin whistle. I should have liked + some one near to joke with. + </p> + <p> + Long ago I made a motto about boys: Look for a boy anywhere. Never be + surprised when you shake a cherry tree if a boy drops out of it; never be + disturbed when you think yourself in complete solitude if you discover a + boy peering out at you from a fence corner. + </p> + <p> + I had not been playing long before I saw two boys looking at me from out + of a thicket by the roadside; and a moment later two others appeared. + </p> + <p> + Instantly I switched into “Marching Through Georgia,” and began to nod my + head and tap my toe in the liveliest fashion. Presently one boy climbed up + on the fence, then another, then a third. I continued to play. The fourth + boy, a little chap, ventured to climb up on the fence. + </p> + <p> + They were bright-faced, tow-headed lads, all in Sunday clothes. + </p> + <p> + “It's hard luck,” said I, taking my whistle from my lips, “to have to wear + shoes and stockings on a warm Sunday like this.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet it is!” said the bold leader. + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” said I, “I will play 'Yankee Doodle.'” + </p> + <p> + I played. All the boys, including the little chap, came up around me, and + two of them sat down quite familiarly on the grass. I never had a more + devoted audience. I don't know what interesting event might have happened + next, for the bold leader, who stood nearest, was becoming dangerously + inflated with questions—I don't know what might have happened had we + not been interrupted by the appearance of a Spectre in Black. It appeared + before us there in the broad daylight in the middle of a sunny afternoon + while we were playing “Yankee Doodle.” First I saw the top of a black hat + rising over the rim of the hill. This was followed quickly by a black tie, + a long black coat, black trousers, and, finally, black shoes. I admit I + was shaken, but being a person of iron nerve in facing such phenomena, I + continued to play “Yankee Doodle.” In spite of this counter-attraction, + toward which all four boys turned uneasy glances, I held my audience. The + Black Spectre, with a black book under its arm, drew nearer. Still I + continued to play and nod my head and tap my toe. I felt like some modern + Pied Piper piping away the children of these modern hills—piping + them away from older people who could not understand them. + </p> + <p> + I could see an accusing look on the Spectre's face. I don't know what put + it into my head, and I had no sooner said it than I was sorry for my + levity, but the figure with the sad garments there in the matchless and + triumphant spring day affected me with a curious, sharp impatience. Had + any one the right to look out so dolefully upon such a day and such a + scene of simple happiness as this? So I took my whistle from my lips and + asked: + </p> + <p> + “Is God dead?” + </p> + <p> + I shall never forget the indescribable look of horror and astonishment + that swept over the young man's face. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, sir?” he asked with an air of stern authority which + surprised me. His calling for the moment lifted him above himself: it was + the Church which spoke. + </p> + <p> + I was on my feet in an instant, regretting the pain I had given him; and + yet it seemed worth while now, having made my inadvertent remark, to show + him frankly what lay in my mind. Such things sometimes help men. + </p> + <p> + “I meant no offence, sir,” I said, “and I apologize for my flummery, but + when I saw you coming up the hill, looking so gloomy and disconsolate on + this bright day, as though you disapproved of God's world, the question + slipped out before I knew it.” + </p> + <p> + My words evidently struck deep down into some disturbed inner + consciousness, for he asked—and his words seemed to slip out before + he thought: + </p> + <p> + “Is THAT the way I impressed you?” + </p> + <p> + I found my heart going out strongly toward him. “Here,” I thought to + myself, “is a man in trouble.” + </p> + <p> + I took a good long look at him. He still a young man, though worn-looking—and + sad as I now saw it, rather than gloomy—with the sensitive lips and + the unworldly look one sees sometimes in the faces of saints. His black + coat was immaculately neat, but the worn button-covers and the shiny + lapels told their own eloquent story. Oh, it seemed to me I knew him as + well as if every incident of his life were written plainly upon his high, + pale forehead! I have lived long in a country neighbourhood, and I knew + him—poor flagellant of the rural church—I knew how he groaned + under the sins of a Community too comfortably willing to cast all its + burdens on the Lord, or on the Lord's accredited local representative. I + inferred also the usual large family and the low salary (scandalously + unpaid) and the frequent moves from place to place. + </p> + <p> + Unconsciously heaving a sigh the young man turned partly aside and said to + me in a low, gentle voice: + </p> + <p> + “You are detaining my boys from church.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very sorry,” I said, “and I will detain them no longer,” and with + that I put aside my whistle, took up my bag and moved down the hill with + them. + </p> + <p> + “The fact is,” I said, “when I heard your bell I thought of going to + church myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you?” he asked eagerly. “Did you?” + </p> + <p> + I could see that my proposal of going to church had instantly affected his + spirits. Then he hesitated abruptly with a sidelong glance at my bag and + rusty clothing. I could see exactly what was passing in his mind. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said, smiling, as though answering a spoken question, “I am not + exactly what you would call a tramp.” + </p> + <p> + He flushed. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean—I WANT you to come. That's what a church is for. If I + thought—” + </p> + <p> + But he did not tell me what he thought; and, though he walked quietly at + my side, he was evidently deeply disturbed. Something of his + discouragement I sensed even then, and I don't think I was ever sorrier + for a man in my life than I was for him at that moment. Talk about the + suffering sinners! I wonder if they are to be compared with the trials of + the saints? + </p> + <p> + So we approached the little white church, and caused, I am certain, a + tremendous sensation. Nowhere does the unpredictable, the unusual, excite + such confusion as in that settled institution—the church. + </p> + <p> + I left my bag in the vestibule, where I have no doubt it was the object of + much inquiring and suspicious scrutiny, and took my place in a convenient + pew. It was a small church with an odd air of domesticity, and the + proportion of old ladies and children in the audience was pathetically + large. As a ruddy, vigorous, out-of-door person, with the dust of life + upon him, I felt distinctly out of place. + </p> + <p> + I could pick out easily the Deacon, the Old Lady Who Brought Flowers, the + President of the Sewing Circle, and, above all, the Chief Pharisee, + sitting in his high place. The Chief Pharisee—his name I learned was + Nash, Mr. J. H. Nash (I did not know then that I was soon to make his + acquaintance)—the Chief Pharisee looked as hard as nails, a + middle-aged man with stiff chin-whiskers, small round, sharp eyes, and a + pugnacious jaw. + </p> + <p> + “That man,” said I to myself, “runs this church,” and instantly I found + myself looking upon him as a sort of personification of the troubles I had + seen in the minister's eyes. + </p> + <p> + I shall not attempt to describe the service in detail. There was a + discouraging droop and quaver in the singing, and the mournful-looking + deacon who passed the collection-plate seemed inured to disappointment. + The prayer had in it a note of despairing appeal which fell like a cold + hand upon one's living soul. It gave one the impression that this was + indeed a miserable, dark, despairing world, which deserved to be + wrathfully destroyed, and that this miserable world was full of equally + miserable, broken, sinful, sickly people. + </p> + <p> + The sermon was a little better, for somewhere hidden within him this pale + young man had a spark of the divine fire, but it was so dampened by the + atmosphere of the church that it never rose above a pale luminosity. + </p> + <p> + I found the service indescribably depressing. I had an impulse to rise up + and cry out—almost anything to shock these people into opening their + eyes upon real life. Indeed, though I hesitate about setting it down here, + I was filled for some time with the liveliest imaginings of the following + serio-comic enterprise: + </p> + <p> + I would step up the aisle, take my place in front of the Chief Pharisee, + wag my finger under his nose, and tell him a thing or two about the + condition of the church. + </p> + <p> + “The only live thing here,” I would tell him, “is the spark in that pale + minister's soul; and you're doing your best to smother that.” + </p> + <p> + And I fully made up my mind that when he answered back in his + chief-pharisaical way I would gently—but firmly remove him from his + seat, shake him vigorously two or three times (men's souls have often been + saved with less!), deposit him flat in the aisle, and yes—stand on + him while I elucidated the situation to the audience at large. While I + confined this amusing and interesting project to the humours of the + imagination I am still convinced that something of the sort would have + helped enormously in clearing up the religious and moral atmosphere of the + place. + </p> + <p> + I had a wonderful sensation of relief when at last I stepped out again + into the clear afternoon sunshine and got a reviving glimpse of the + smiling green hills and the quiet fields and the sincere trees—and + felt the welcome of the friendly road. + </p> + <p> + I would have made straight for the hills, but the thought of that pale + minister held me back; and I waited quietly there under the trees till he + came out. He was plainly looking for me, and asked me to wait and walk + along with him, at which his four boys, whose acquaintance I had made + under such thrilling circumstances earlier in the day, seemed highly + delighted, and waited with me under the tree and told me a hundred + important things about a certain calf, a pig, a kite, and other things at + home. + </p> + <p> + Arriving at the minister's gate, I was invited in with a whole-heartedness + that was altogether charming. The minister's wife, a faded-looking woman + who had once possessed a delicate sort of prettiness, was waiting for us + on the steps with a fine chubby baby on her arm—number five. + </p> + <p> + The home was much the sort of place I had imagined—a small house + undesirably located (but cheap!), with a few straggling acres of garden + and meadow upon which the minister and his boys were trying with + inexperienced hands to piece out their inadequate living. At the very + first glimpse of the garden I wanted to throw off my coat and go at it. + </p> + <p> + And yet—and yet——what a wonderful thing love is! There + was, after all, something incalculable, something pervasively beautiful + about this poor household. The moment the minister stepped inside his own + door he became a different and livelier person. Something boyish crept + into his manner, and a new look came into the eyes of his faded wife that + made her almost pretty again. And the fat, comfortable baby rolled and + gurgled about on the floor as happily as though there had been two nurses + and a governess to look after him. As for the four boys, I have never seen + healthier or happier ones. + </p> + <p> + I sat with them at their Sunday-evening luncheon. As the minister bowed + his head to say grace I felt him clasp my hand on one side while the + oldest boy clasped my hand on the other, and thus, linked together, and + accepting the stranger utterly, the family looked up to God. + </p> + <p> + There was a fine, modest gayety about the meal. In front of Mrs. Minister + stood a very large yellow bowl filled with what she called rusk—a + preparation unfamiliar to me, made by browning and crushing the crusts of + bread and then rolling them down into a coarse meal. A bowl of this, with + sweet, rich, yellow milk (for they kept their own cow), made one of the + most appetizing dishes that ever I ate. It was downright good: it gave one + the unalloyed aroma of the sweet new milk and the satisfying taste of the + crisp bread. + </p> + <p> + Nor have I ever enjoyed a more perfect hospitality. I have been in many a + richer home where there was not a hundredth part of the true gentility—the + gentility of unapologizing simplicity and kindness. + </p> + <p> + And after it was over and cleared away—the minister himself donning + a long apron and helping his wife—and the chubby baby put to bed, we + all sat around the table in the gathering twilight. + </p> + <p> + I think men perish sometimes from sheer untalked talk. For lack of a + creative listener they gradually fill up with unexpressed emotion. + Presently this emotion begins to ferment, and finally—bang!—they + blow up, burst, disappear in thin air. In all that community I suppose + there was no one but the little faded wife to whom the minister dared open + his heart, and I think he found me a godsend. All I really did was to look + from one to the other and put in here and there an inciting comment or ask + an understanding question. After he had told me his situation and the + difficulties which confronted him and his small church, he exclaimed + suddenly: + </p> + <p> + “A minister should by rights be a leader, not only inside of his church, + but outside it in the community.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” I exclaimed with great earnestness; “you are right.” + </p> + <p> + And with that I told him of our own Scotch preacher and how he led and + moulded our community; and as I talked I could see him actually growing, + unfolding, under my eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said I, “you not only ought to be the moral leader of this + community, but you are!” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I tell him,” exclaimed his wife. + </p> + <p> + “But he persists in thinking, doesn't he, that he is a poor sinner?” + </p> + <p> + “He thinks it too much,” she laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” he said, as much to himself as to us, “a minister ought to be + a fighter!” + </p> + <p> + It was beautiful, the boyish flush which now came into his face and the + light that came into his eyes. I should never have identified him with the + Black Spectre of the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said I, “you ARE a fighter; you're fighting the greatest battle in + the world today—the only real battle—the battle for the + spiritual view of life.” + </p> + <p> + Oh, I knew exactly what was the trouble with his religion—at least + the religion which, under the pressure of that church he felt obliged to + preach! It was the old, groaning, denying, resisting religion. It was the + sort of religion which sets a man apart and assures him that the entire + universe in the guise of the Powers of Darkness is leagued against him. + What he needed was a reviving draught of the new faith which affirms, + accepts, rejoices, which feels the universe triumphantly behind it. And so + whenever the minister told me what he ought to be—for he too sensed + the new impulse—I merely told him he was just that. He needed only + this little encouragement to unfold. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said he again, “I am the real moral leader here.” + </p> + <p> + At this I saw Mrs. Minister nodding her head vigorously. + </p> + <p> + “It's you,” she said, “and not Mr. Nash, who should lead this community.” + </p> + <p> + How a woman loves concrete applications. She is your only true pragmatist. + If a philosophy will not work, says she, why bother with it? + </p> + <p> + The minister rose quickly from his chair, threw back his head, and strode + quickly up and down the room. + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” said he; “and I WILL lead it. I'll have my farmers' + meetings as I planned.” + </p> + <p> + It may have been the effect of the lamplight, but it seemed to me that + little Mrs. Minister, as she glanced up at him, looked actually pretty. + </p> + <p> + The minister continued to stride up and down the room with his chin in the + air. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Nash,” said she in a low voice to me, “is always trying to hold him + down and keep him back. My husband WANTS to do the great things”—wistfully. + </p> + <p> + “By every right,” the minister was repeating, quite oblivious of our + presence, “I should lead these people.” + </p> + <p> + “He sees the weakness of the church,” she continued, “as well as any one, + and he wants to start some vigorous community work—have agricultural + meetings and boys' clubs, and lots of things like that—but Mr. Nash + says it is no part of a minister's work: that it cheapens religion. He + says that when a parson—Mr. Nash always calls him parson, and I just + LOATHE that name—has preached, and prayed, and visited the sick, + that's enough for HIM.” + </p> + <p> + At this very moment a step sounded upon the walk, and an instant later a + figure appeared in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mr. Nash,” exclaimed little Mrs. Minister, exhibiting that + astonishing gift of swift recovery which is the possession of even the + simplest women, “come right in.” + </p> + <p> + It was some seconds before the minister could come down from the heights + and greet Mr. Nash. As for me, I was never more interested in my life. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said I to myself, “we shall see Christian meet Apollyon.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as Mrs. Minister lighted the lamp I was introduced to the great + man. He looked at me sharply with his small, round eyes, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you are the—the man who was in church this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + I admitted it, and he looked around at the minister with an accusing + expression. He evidently did not approve of me, nor could I wholly blame + him, for I knew well how he, as a rich farmer, must look upon a rusty man + of the road like me. I should have liked dearly to cross swords with him + myself, but greater events were imminent. + </p> + <p> + In no time at all the discussion, which had evidently been broken off at + some previous meeting, concerning the proposed farmers' assembly at the + church, had taken on a really lively tone. Mr. Nash was evidently in the + somewhat irritable mood with which important people may sometimes indulge + themselves, for he bit off his words in a way that was calculated to make + any but an unusually meek and saintly man exceedingly uncomfortable. But + the minister, with the fine, high humility of those whose passion is for + great or true things, was quite oblivious to the harsh words. Borne along + by an irresistible enthusiasm, he told in glowing terms what his plan + would mean to the community, how the people needed a new social and civic + spirit—a “neighbourhood religious feeling” he called it. And as he + talked his face flushed, and his eyes shone with the pure fire of a great + purpose. But I could see that all this enthusiasm impressed the practical + Mr. Nash as mere moonshine. He grew more and more uneasy. Finally he + brought his hand down with a resounding thwack upon his knee, and said in + a high, cutting voice: + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe in any such newfangled nonsense. It ain't none of a + parson's business what the community does. You're hired, ain't you, an' + paid to run the church? That's the end of it. We ain't goin' to have any + mixin' of religion an' farmin' in THIS neighbourhood.” + </p> + <p> + My eyes were on the pale man of God. I felt as though a human soul were + being weighed in the balance. What would he do now? What was he worth + REALLY as a man as well as a minister? + </p> + <p> + He paused a moment with downcast eyes. I saw little Mrs. Minister glance + at him—once—wistfully. He rose from his place, drew himself up + to his full height—I shall not soon forget the look on his face—and + uttered these amazing words: + </p> + <p> + “Martha, bring the ginger-jar.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Minister, without a word, went to a little cupboard on the farther + side of the room and took down a brown earthenware jar, which she brought + over and placed on the table, Mr. Nash following her movements with + astonished eyes. No one spoke. + </p> + <p> + The minister took the jar in his hands as he might the communion-cup just + before saying the prayer of the sacrament. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Nash,” said he in a loud voice, “I've decided to hold that farmers' + meeting.” + </p> + <p> + Before Mr. Nash could reply the minister seated himself and was pouring + out the contents of the jar upon the table—a clatter of dimes, + nickels, pennies, a few quarters and half dollars, and a very few bills. + </p> + <p> + “Martha, just how much money is there?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-four dollars and sixteen cents.” + </p> + <p> + The minister put his hand into his pocket and, after counting out certain + coins, said: + </p> + <p> + “Here's one dollar and eighty-four cents more. That makes twenty-six + dollars. Now, Mr. Nash, you're the largest contributor to my salary in + this neighbourhood. You gave twenty-six dollars last year—fifty + cents a week. It is a generous contribution, but I cannot take it any + longer. It is fortunate that my wife has saved up this money to buy a + sewing-machine, so that we can pay back your contribution in full.” + </p> + <p> + He paused; no one of us spoke a word. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Nash,” he continued, and his face was good to see, “I am the minister + here. I am convinced that what the community needs is more of a religious + and social spirit, and I am going about getting it in the way the Lord + leads me.” + </p> + <p> + At this I saw Mrs. Minister look up at her husband with such a light in + her eyes as any man might well barter his life for—I could not keep + my own eyes from pure beauty of it. + </p> + <p> + I knew too what this defiance meant. It meant that this little family was + placing its all upon the altar—even the pitiful coins for which they + had skimped and saved for months for a particular purpose. Talk of the + heroism of the men who charged with Pickett at Gettysburg! Here was a + courage higher and whiter than that; here was a courage that dared to + fight alone. + </p> + <p> + As for Mr. Nash, the face of that Chief Pharisee was a study. Nothing is + so paralyzing to a rich man as to find suddenly that his money will no + longer command him any advantage. Like all hard-shelled, practical people, + Mr. Nash could only dominate in a world which recognized the same material + supremacy that he recognized. Any one who insisted upon flying was lost to + Mr. Nash. + </p> + <p> + The minister pushed the little pile of coins toward him. + </p> + <p> + “Take it, Mr. Nash,” said he. + </p> + <p> + At that Mr. Nash rose hastily. + </p> + <p> + “I will not,” he said gruffly. + </p> + <p> + He paused, and looked at the minister with a strange expression in his + small round eyes—was it anger, or was it fear, or could it have been + admiration? + </p> + <p> + “If you want to waste your time on fiddlin' farmers' meetings—a man + that knows as little of farmin' as you do—why go ahead for all o' + me. But don't count me in.” + </p> + <p> + He turned, reached for his hat, and then went out of the door into the + darkness. + </p> + <p> + For a moment we all sat perfectly silent, then the minister rose, and said + solemnly: + </p> + <p> + “Martha, let's sing something.” + </p> + <p> + Martha crossed the room to the cottage organ and seated herself on the + stool. + </p> + <p> + “What shall we sing?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Something with fight in it, Martha,” he responded; “something with plenty + of fight in it.” + </p> + <p> + So we sang “Onward, Christian Soldier, Marching as to War,” and followed + up with: + </p> + <p> + Awake, my soul, stretch every nerve And press with rigour on; A heavenly + race demands thy zeal And an immortal crown. + </p> + <p> + When we had finished, and as Martha rose from her seat, the minister + impulsively put his hands on her shoulders, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Martha, this is the greatest night of my life.” + </p> + <p> + He took a turn up and down the room, and then with an exultant boyish + laugh said: + </p> + <p> + “We'll go to town to-morrow and pick out that sewing-machine!” + </p> + <p> + I remained with them that night and part of the following day, taking a + hand with them in the garden, but of the events of that day I shall speak + in another chapter. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. I PLAY THE PART OF A SPECTACLE PEDDLER + </h2> + <p> + Yesterday was exactly the sort of a day I love best—a spicy, + unexpected, amusing day—crowned with a droll adventure. + </p> + <p> + I cannot account for it, but it seems to me I take the road each morning + with a livelier mind and keener curiosity. If you were to watch me + narrowly these days you would see I am slowly shedding my years. I suspect + that some one of the clear hill streams from which I have been drinking + (lying prone on my face) was in reality the fountain of eternal youth. I + shall not go back to see. + </p> + <p> + It seems to me, when I feel like this, that in every least thing upon the + roadside, or upon the hill, lurks the stuff of adventure. What a world it + is! A mile south of here I shall find all that Stanley found in the + jungles of Africa; a mile north I am Peary at the Pole! + </p> + <p> + You there, brown-clad farmer on the tall seat of your wagon, driving + townward with a red heifer for sale, I can show you that life—your + life—is not all a gray smudge, as you think it is, but crammed, + packed, loaded with miraculous things. I can show you wonders past belief + in your own soul. I can easily convince you that you are in reality a + poet, a hero, a true lover, a saint. + </p> + <p> + It is because we are not humble enough in the presence of the divine daily + fact that adventure knocks so rarely at our door. A thousand times I have + had to learn this truth (what lesson so hard to learn as the lesson of + humility!) and I suppose I shall have to learn it a thousand times more. + This very day, straining my eyes to see the distant wonders of the + mountains, I nearly missed a miracle by the roadside. + </p> + <p> + Soon after leaving the minister and his family—I worked with them in + their garden with great delight most of the forenoon—I came, within + a mile—to the wide white turnpike—the Great Road. + </p> + <p> + Now, I usually prefer the little roads, the little, unexpected, curving, + leisurely country roads. The sharp hills, the pleasant deep valleys, the + bridges not too well kept, the verdure deep grown along old fences, the + houses opening hospitably at the very roadside, all these things I love. + They come to me with the same sort of charm and flavour, only vastly + magnified, which I find often in the essays of the older writers—those + leisurely old fellows who took time to write, REALLY write. The important + thing to me about a road, as about life—and literature, is not that + it goes anywhere, but that it is livable while it goes. For if I were to + arrive—and who knows that I ever shall arrive?—I think I + should be no happier than I am here. + </p> + <p> + Thus I have commonly avoided the Great White Road—the broad, smooth + turnpike—rock-bottomed and rolled by a State—without so much + as a loitering curve to whet one's curiosity, nor a thank-you-ma'am to + laugh over, nor a sinful hill to test your endurance—not so much as + a dreamy valley! It pursues its hard, unshaded, practical way directly + from some particular place to some other particular place and from time to + time a motor-car shoots in at one end of it and out at the other, leaving + its dust to settle upon quiet travellers like me. + </p> + <p> + Thus to-day when I came to the turnpike I was at first for making straight + across it and taking to the hills beyond, but at that very moment a + motor-car whirled past me as I stood there and a girl with a merry face + waved her hand at me. I lifted my hat in return—and as I watched + them out of sight I felt a curious new sense of warmth and friendliness + there in the Great Road. + </p> + <p> + “These are just people, too,” I said aloud—“and maybe they really + like it!” + </p> + <p> + And with that I began laughing at myself, and at the whole, big, amazing, + interesting world. Here was I pitying them for their benighted state, and + there were they, no doubt, pitying me for mine! + </p> + <p> + And with that pleasant and satisfactory thought in my mind and a song in + my throat I swung into the Great Road. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't matter in the least,” said I to myself, “whether a man takes + hold of life by the great road or the little ones so long as he takes + hold.” + </p> + <p> + And oh, it was a wonderful day! A day with movement in it; a day that + flowed! In every field the farmers were at work, the cattle fed widely in + the meadows, and the Great Road itself was alive with a hundred varied + sorts of activity. Light winds stirred the tree-tops and rippled in the + new grass; and from the thickets I heard the blackbirds crying. Everything + animate and inanimate, that morning, seemed to have its own clear voice + and to cry out at me for my interest, or curiosity, or sympathy. Under + such circumstances it could not have been long—nor was it long—before + I came plump upon the first of a series of odd adventures. + </p> + <p> + A great many people, I know, abominate the roadside sign. It seems to them + a desecration of nature, the intrusion of rude commercialism upon the + perfection of natural beauty. But not I. I have no such feeling. Oh, the + signs in themselves are often rude and unbeautiful, and I never wished my + own barn or fences to sing the praises of swamp root or sarsaparilla—and + yet there is something wonderfully human about these painted and pasted + vociferations of the roadside signs; and I don't know why they are less + “natural” in their way than a house or barn or a planted field of corn. + They also tell us about life. How eagerly they cry out at us, “Buy me, buy + me!” What enthusiasm they have in their own concerns, what boundless faith + in themselves! How they speak of the enormous energy, activity, + resourcefulness of human kind! + </p> + <p> + Indeed, I like all kinds of signs. The autocratic warnings of the road, + the musts and the must-nots of traffic, I observe in passing; and I often + stand long at the crossings and look up at the finger-posts, and consider + my limitless wealth as a traveller. By this road I may, at my own + pleasure, reach the Great City; by that—who knows?—the far + wonders of Cathay. And I respond always to the appeal which the devoted + pilgrim paints on the rocks at the roadside: “Repent ye, for the kingdom + of God is at hand,” and though I am certain that the kingdom of God is + already here, I stop always and repent—just a little—knowing + that there is always room for it. At the entrance of the little towns, + also, or in the squares of the villages, I stop often to read the signs of + taxes assessed, or of political meetings; I see the evidences of homes + broken up in the notices of auction sales, and of families bereaved in the + dry and formal publications of the probate court. I pause, too, before the + signs of amusements flaming red and yellow on the barns (boys, the circus + is coming to town!), and I pause also, but no longer, to read the silent + signs carved in stone in the little cemeteries as I pass. Symbols, you + say? Why, they're the very stuff of life. If you cannot see life here in + the wide road, you will never see it at all. + </p> + <p> + Well, I saw a sign yesterday at the roadside that I never saw anywhere + before. It was not a large sign—indeed rather inconspicuous—consisting + of a single word rather crudely painted in black (as by an amateur) upon a + white board. It was nailed to a tree where those in swift passing cars + could not avoid seeing it: + </p> + <p> + [ REST ] + </p> + <p> + I cannot describe the odd sense of enlivenment, of pleasure I had when I + saw this new sign. + </p> + <p> + “Rest!” I exclaimed aloud. “Indeed I will,” and I sat down on a stone not + far away. + </p> + <p> + “Rest!” + </p> + <p> + What a sign for this very spot! Here in the midst of the haste and hurry + of the Great Road a quiet voice was saying, “Rest.” Some one with + imagination, I thought, evidently put that up; some quietist offering this + mild protest against the breathless progress of the age. How often I have + felt the same way myself—as though I were being swept onward through + life faster than I could well enjoy it. For nature passes the dishes far + more rapidly than we can help ourselves. + </p> + <p> + Or perhaps, thought I, eagerly speculating, this may be only some cunning + advertiser with rest for sale (in these days even rest has its price), + thus piquing the curiosity of the traveller for the disclosure which he + will make a mile or so farther on. Or else some humourist wasting his wit + upon the Fraternity of the Road, too willing (like me, perhaps) to accept + his ironical advice. But it would be well worth while should I find him, + to see him chuckle behind his hand. + </p> + <p> + So I sat there very much interested, for a long time, even framing a + rather amusing picture in my own mind of the sort of person who painted + these signs, deciding finally that he must be a zealot rather than a + trader or humourist. (Confidentially, I could not make a picture of him in + which he was not endowed with plentiful long hair). As I walked onward + again, I decided that in any guise I should like to see him, and I enjoyed + thinking what I should say if I met him. A mile farther up the road I saw + another sign exactly like the first. + </p> + <p> + “Here he is again,” I said exultantly, and that sign being somewhat nearer + the ground I was able to examine it carefully front and back, but it bore + no evidence of its origin. + </p> + <p> + In the next few miles I saw two other signs with nothing on them but the + word “Rest.” + </p> + <p> + Now this excellent admonition—like much of the excellent admonitions + in this world—affected me perversely: it made me more restless than + ever. I felt that I could not rest properly until I found out who wanted + me to rest, and why. It opened indeed a limitless vista for new adventure. + </p> + <p> + Presently, away ahead of me in the road, I saw a man standing near a + one-horse wagon. He seemed to be engaged in some activity near the + roadside, but I could not tell exactly what. As I hastened nearer I + discovered that he was a short, strongly built, sun-bronzed man in + working-clothes—and with the shortest of short hair. I saw him take + a shovel from the wagon and begin digging. He was the road-worker. + </p> + <p> + I asked the road-worker if he had seen the curious signs. He looked up at + me with a broad smile (he had good-humoured, very bright blue eyes). + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “but they ain't for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you don't follow the advice they give?” + </p> + <p> + “Not with a section like mine,” said he, and he straightened up and looked + first one way of the road and then the other. “I have from Grabow Brook, + but not the bridge, to the top o' Sullivan Hill, and all the culverts + between, though two of 'em are by rights bridges. And I claim that's a job + for any full-grown man.” + </p> + <p> + He began shovelling again in the road as if to prove how busy he was. + There had been a small landslide from an open cut on one side and a mass + of gravel and small boulders lay scattered on the smooth macadam. I + watched him for a moment. I love to watch the motions of vigorous men at + work, the easy play of the muscles, the swing of the shoulders, the vigour + of stoutly planted legs. He evidently considered the conversation closed, + and I, as—well, as a dusty man of the road—easily dismissed. + (You have no idea, until you try it, what a weight of prejudice the man of + the road has to surmount before he is accepted on easy terms by the + ordinary members of the human race.) + </p> + <p> + A few other well-intentioned observations on my part having elicited + nothing but monosyllabic replies, I put my bag down by the roadside and, + going up to the wagon, got out a shovel, and without a word took my place + at the other end of the landslide and began to shovel for all I was worth. + </p> + <p> + I said not a word to the husky road-worker and pretended not to look at + him, but I saw him well enough out of the corner of my eye. He was + evidently astonished and interested, as I knew he would be: it was + something entirely new on the road. He didn't quite know whether to be + angry, or amused, or sociable. I caught him looking over at me several + times, but I offered no response; then he cleared his throat and said: + </p> + <p> + “Where you from?” + </p> + <p> + I answered with a monosyllable which I knew he could not quite catch. + Silence again for some time, during which I shovelled valiantly and with + great inward amusement. Oh, there is nothing like cracking a hard human + nut! I decided at that moment, to have him invite me to supper. + </p> + <p> + Finally, when I showed no signs of stopping my work, he himself paused and + leaned on his shovel. I kept right on. + </p> + <p> + “Say, partner,” said he, finally, “did YOU read those signs as you come up + the road?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said, “but they weren't for me, either. My section's a long one, + too.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, you ain't a road-worker, are you?” he asked eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I, with a sudden inspiration, “that's exactly what I am—a + road-worker.” + </p> + <p> + “Put her there, then, partner,” he said, with a broad smile on his bronzed + face. + </p> + <p> + He and I struck hands, rested on our shovels (like old hands at it), and + looked with understanding into each other's eyes. We both knew the trade + and the tricks of the trade; all bars were down between us. The fact is, + we had both seen and profited by the peculiar signs at the roadside. + </p> + <p> + “Where's your section?” he asked easily. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I responded after considering the question, “I have a very long + and hard section. It begins at a place called Prosy Common—do you + know it?—and reaches to the top of Clear Hill. There are several bad + spots on the way, I can tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't know it,” said the husky road-worker; “'tain't round here, is it? + In the town of Sheldon, maybe?” + </p> + <p> + Just at this moment, perhaps fortunately, for there is nothing so + difficult to satisfy as the appetite of people for specific information, a + motor-car whizzed past, the driver holding up his hand in greeting, and + the road-worker and I responding in accordance with the etiquette of the + Great Road. + </p> + <p> + “There he goes in the ruts again,” said the husky road-worker. “Why is it, + I'd like to know, that every one wants to run in the same identical track + when they've got the whole wide road before 'em?” + </p> + <p> + “That's what has long puzzled me, too,” I said. “Why WILL people continue + to run in ruts?” + </p> + <p> + “It don't seem to do no good to put up signs,” said the road-worker. + </p> + <p> + “Very little indeed,” said I. “The fact is, people have got to be bumped + out of the ruts they get into.” + </p> + <p> + “You're right,” said he enthusiastically, and his voice dropped into the + tone of one speaking to a member of the inner guild. “I know how to get + 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” I asked in an equally mysterious voice. + </p> + <p> + “I put a stone or two in the ruts!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you?” I exclaimed. “I've done that very thing myself—many a + time! Just place a good hard tru—I mean stone, with a bit of common + dust sprinkled over it, in the middle of the rut, and they'll look out for + THAT rut for some time to come.” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't it gorgeous,” said the husky road-worker, chuckling joyfully, “to + see 'em bump?” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” said I—“gorgeous.” + </p> + <p> + After that, shovelling part of the time in a leisurely way, and part of + the time responding to the urgent request of the signs by the roadside (it + pays to advertise!), the husky road-worker and I discussed many great and + important subjects, all, however, curiously related to roads. Working all + day long with his old horse, removing obstructions, draining out the + culverts, filling ruts and holes with new stone, and repairing the damage + of rain and storm, the road-worker was filled with a world of practical + information covering roads and road-making. And having learned that I was + of the same calling, we exchanged views with the greatest enthusiasm. It + was astonishing to see how nearly in agreement we were as to what + constituted an ideal road. + </p> + <p> + “Almost everything,” said he, “depends on depth. If you get a good solid + foundation, the' ain't anything that can break up your road.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly what I have discovered,” I responded. “Get down to bedrock and do + an honest job of building.” + </p> + <p> + “And don't have too many sharp turns.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I, “long, leisurely curves are best—all through life. You + have observed that nearly all the accidents on the road are due to sharp + turnings.” + </p> + <p> + “Right you are!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “A man who tries to turn too sharply on his way nearly always skids.” + </p> + <p> + “Or else turns turtle in the ditch.” + </p> + <p> + But it was not until we reached the subject of oiling that we mounted to + the real summit of enthusiastic agreement. Of all things on the road, or + above the road, or in the waters under the road, there is nothing that the + road-worker dislikes more than oil. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right,” said he, “to use oil for surfacin' and to keep down the + dust. You don't need much and it ain't messy. But sometimes when you see + oil pumped on a road, you know that either the contractor has been + jobbin', or else the road's worn out and ought to be rebuilt.” + </p> + <p> + “That's exactly what I've found,” said I. “Let a road become almost + impassable with ruts and rocks and dust, and immediately some man says, + 'Oh, it's all right—put on a little oil—'” + </p> + <p> + “That's what our supervisor is always sayin',” said the road-worker. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I responded, “it usually is the supervisor. He lives by it. He + wants to smooth over the defects, he wants to lay the dust that every + passerby kicks up, he tries to smear over the truth regarding conditions + with messy and ill-smelling oil. Above everything, he doesn't want the + road dug up and rebuilt—says it will interfere with traffic, injure + business, and even set people to talking about changing the route + entirely! Oh, haven't I seen it in religion, where they are doing their + best to oil up roads that are entirely worn out—and as for politics, + is not the cry of the party-roadster and the harmony-oilers abroad in the + land?” + </p> + <p> + In the excited interest with which this idea now bore me along I had + entirely forgotten the existence of my companion, and as I now glanced at + him I saw him standing with a curious look of astonishment and suspicion + on his face. I saw that I had unintentionally gone a little too far. So I + said abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “Partner, let's get a drink. I'm thirsty.” + </p> + <p> + He followed me, I thought a bit reluctantly, to a little brook not far up + the road where we had been once before. As we were drinking, silently, I + looked at the stout young fellow standing there, and I thought to myself: + </p> + <p> + What a good, straightforward young fellow he is anyway, and how thoroughly + he knows his job. I thought how well he was equipped with unilluminated + knowledge, and it came to me whimsically, that here was a fine bit of + road-mending for me to do. + </p> + <p> + Most people have sight, but few have insight; and as I looked into the + clear blue eyes of my friend I had a sudden swift inspiration, and before + I could repent of it I had said to him in the most serious voice that I + could command: + </p> + <p> + “Friend, I am in reality a spectacle-peddler—” + </p> + <p> + His glance shifted uncomfortably to my gray bag. + </p> + <p> + “And I want to sell you a pair of spectacles,” I said. “I see that you are + nearly blind.” + </p> + <p> + “Me blind!” + </p> + <p> + It would be utterly impossible to describe the expression on his face. His + hand went involuntarily to his eyes, and he glanced quickly, somewhat + fearfully, about. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, nearly blind,” said I. “I saw it when I first met you. You don't + know it yourself yet, but I can assure you it is a bad case.” + </p> + <p> + I paused, and shook my head slowly. If I had not been so much in earnest, + I think I should have been tempted to laugh outright. I had begun my talk + with him half jestingly, with the amusing idea of breaking through his + shell, but I now found myself tremendously engrossed, and desired nothing + in the world (at that moment) so much as to make him see what I saw. I + felt as though I held a live human soul in my hand. + </p> + <p> + “Say, partner,” said the road-worker, “are you sure you aren't—” He + tapped his forehead and began to edge away. + </p> + <p> + I did not answer his question at all, but continued, with my eyes fixed on + him: + </p> + <p> + “It is a peculiar sort of blindness. Apparently, as you look about, you + see everything there is to see, but as a matter of fact you see nothing in + the world but this road—” + </p> + <p> + “It's time that I was seein' it again then,” said he, making as if to turn + back to work, but remaining with a disturbed expression on his + countenance. + </p> + <p> + “The Spectacles I have to sell,” said I, “are powerful magnifiers”—he + glanced again at the gray bag. “When you put them on you will see a + thousand wonderful things besides the road—” + </p> + <p> + “Then you ain't road-worker after all!” he said, evidently trying to be + bluff and outright with me. + </p> + <p> + Now your substantial, sober, practical American will stand only about so + much verbal foolery; and there is nothing in the world that makes him more + uncomfortable—yes, downright mad!—than to feel that he is + being played with. I could see that I had nearly reached the limit with + him, and that if I held him now it must be by driving the truth straight + home. So I stepped over toward him and said very earnestly: + </p> + <p> + “My friend, don't think I am merely joking you. I was never more in + earnest in all my life. When I told you I was a road-worker I meant it, + but I had in mind the mending of other kinds of roads than this.” + </p> + <p> + I laid my hand on his arm, and explained to him as directly and simply as + English words could do it, how, when he had spoken of oil for his roads, I + thought of another sort of oil for another sort of roads, and when he + spoke of curves in his roads I was thinking of curves in the roads I dealt + with, and I explained to him what my roads were. I have never seen a man + more intensely interested: he neither moved nor took his eyes from my + face. + </p> + <p> + “And when I spoke of selling you a pair of spectacles,” said I, “it was + only a way of telling you how much I wanted to make you see my kinds of + roads as well as your own.” + </p> + <p> + I paused, wondering if, after all, he could be made to see. I know now how + the surgeon must feel at the crucial moment of his accomplished operation. + Will the patient live or die? + </p> + <p> + The road-worker drew a long breath as he came out from under the + anesthetic. + </p> + <p> + “I guess, partner,” said he, “you're trying to put a stone or two in my + ruts!” + </p> + <p> + I had him! + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” I exclaimed eagerly. + </p> + <p> + We both paused. He was the first to speak—with some embarrassment: + </p> + <p> + “Say, you're just like a preacher I used to know when I was a kid. He was + always sayin' things that meant something else and when you found out what + he was drivin' at you always felt kind of queer in your insides.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. + </p> + <p> + “It's a mighty good sign,” I said, “when a man begins to feel queer in the + insides. It shows that something is happening to him.” + </p> + <p> + With that we walked back to the road, feeling very close and friendly—and + shovelling again, not saying much. After quite a time, when we had nearly + cleaned up the landslide, I heard the husky road-worker chuckling to + himself; finally, straightening up, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Say, there's more things in a road than ever I dreamt of.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said I, “that the new spectacles are a good fit.” + </p> + <p> + The road-worker laughed long and loud. + </p> + <p> + “You're a good one, all right,” he said. “I see what YOU mean. I catch + your point.” + </p> + <p> + “And now that you've got them on,” said I, “and they are serving you so + well, I'm not going to sell them to you at all. I'm going to present them + to you—for I haven't seen anybody in a long time that I've enjoyed + meeting more than I have you.” + </p> + <p> + We nurse a fiction that people love to cover up their feelings; but I have + learned that if the feeling is real and deep they love far better to find + a way to uncover it. + </p> + <p> + “Same here,” said the road-worker simply, but with a world of genuine + feeling in his voice. + </p> + <p> + Well, when it came time to stop work the road-worker insisted that I get + in and go home with him. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to see my wife and kids,” said he. + </p> + <p> + The upshot of it was that I not only remained for supper—and a good + supper it was—but I spent the night in his little home, close at the + side of the road near the foot of a fine hill. And from time to time all + night long, it seemed to me, I could hear the rush of cars going by in the + smooth road outside, and sometimes their lights flashed in at my window, + and sometimes I heard them sound their brassy horns. + </p> + <p> + I wish I could tell more of what I saw there, of the garden back of the + house, and of all the road-worker and his wife told me of their simple + history—but, the road calls! + </p> + <p> + When I set forth early this morning the road-worker followed me out to the + smooth macadam (his wife standing in the doorway with her hands rolled in + her apron) and said to me, a bit shyly: + </p> + <p> + “I'll be more sort o'—sort o' interested in roads since I've seen + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be along again some of these days,” said I, laughing, “and I'll stop + in and show you my new stock of spectacles. Maybe I can sell you another + pair!” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you kin,” and he smiled a broad, understanding smile. + </p> + <p> + Nothing brings men together like having a joke in common. + </p> + <p> + So I walked off down the road—in the best of spirits—ready for + the events of another day. + </p> + <p> + It will surely be a great adventure, one of these days, to come this way + again—and to visit the Stanleys, and the Vedders, and the Minister, + and drop in and sell another pair of specs to the Road-worker. It seems to + me I have a wonderfully rosy future ahead of me! + </p> + <p> + P. S.—I have not yet found out who painted the curious signs; but I + am not as uneasy about it as I was. I have seen two more of them already + this morning—and find they exert quite a psychological influence. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. AN EXPERIMENT IN HUMAN NATURE + </h2> + <p> + In the early morning after I left the husky road-mender (wearing his new + spectacles), I remained steadfastly on the Great Road or near it. It was a + prime spring day, just a little hazy, as though promising rain, but soft + and warm. + </p> + <p> + “They will be working in the garden at home,” I thought, “and there will + be worlds of rhubarb and asparagus.” Then I remembered how the morning + sunshine would look on the little vine-clad back porch (reaching halfway + up the weathered door) of my own house among the hills. + </p> + <p> + It was the first time since my pilgrimage began that I had thought with + any emotion of my farm—or of Harriet. + </p> + <p> + And then the road claimed me again, and I began to look out for some + further explanation of the curious sign, the single word “Rest,” which had + interested me so keenly on the preceding day. It may seem absurd to some + who read these lines—some practical people!—but I cannot + convey the pleasure I had in the very elusiveness and mystery of the sign, + nor how I wished I might at the next turn come upon the poet himself. I + decided that no one but a poet could have contented himself with a lyric + in one word, unless it might have been a humourist, to whom sometimes a + single small word is more blessed than all the verbal riches of Webster + himself. For it is nothing short of genius that uses one word when twenty + will say the same thing! + </p> + <p> + Or, would he, after all, turn out to be only a more than ordinarily + alluring advertiser? I confess my heart went into my throat that morning, + when I first saw the sign, lest it read: + </p> + <p> + [ RESTaurant 2 miles east ] + </p> + <p> + nor should I have been surprised if it had. + </p> + <p> + I caught a vicarious glimpse of the sign-man to-day, through the eyes of a + young farmer. Yes, he s'posed he'd seen him, he said; wore a slouch hat, + couldn't tell whether he was young or old. Drove into the bushes (just + down there beyond the brook) and, standin' on the seat of his buggy, + nailed something to a tree. A day or two later—the dull wonder of + mankind!—the young farmer, passing that way to town, had seen the + odd sign “Rest” on the tree: he s'posed the fellow put it there. + </p> + <p> + “What does it mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, naow, I hadn't thought,” said the young farmer. + </p> + <p> + “Did the fellow by any chance have long hair?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, naow, I didn't notice,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure he wore a slouch hat?” + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es—or it may a-been straw,” replied the observant young farmer. + </p> + <p> + So I tramped that morning; and as I tramped I let my mind go out warmly to + the people living all about on the farms or in the hills. It is pleasant + at times to feel life, as it were, in general terms: no specific Mr. Smith + or concrete Mr. Jones, but just human life. I love to think of people all + around going out busily in the morning to their work and returning at + night, weary, to rest. I like to think of them growing up, growing old, + loving, achieving, sinning, failing—in short, living. + </p> + <p> + In such a live-minded mood as this it often happens that the most ordinary + things appear charged with new significance. I suppose I had seen a + thousand rural-mail boxes along country roads before that day, but I had + seen them as the young farmer saw the sign-man. They were mere inert + objects of iron and wood. + </p> + <p> + But as I tramped, thinking of the people in the hills, I came quite + unexpectedly upon a sandy by-road that came out through a thicket of scrub + oaks and hazel-brush, like some shy countryman, to join the turn-pike. As + I stood looking into it—for it seemed peculiarly inviting—I + saw at the entrance a familiar group of rural-mail boxes. And I saw them + not as dead things, but for the moment—the illusion was + over-powering—they were living, eager hands outstretched to the + passing throng I could feel, hear, see the farmers up there in the hills + reaching out to me, to all the world, for a thousand inexpressible things, + for more life, more companionship, more comforts, more money. + </p> + <p> + It occurred to me at that moment, whimsically and yet somehow seriously, + that I might respond to the appeal of the shy country road and the + outstretched hands. At first I did not think of anything I could do—save + to go up and eat dinner with one of the hill farmers, which might not be + an unmixed blessing!—and then it came to me. + </p> + <p> + “I will write a letter!” + </p> + <p> + Straightway and with the liveliest amusement I began to formulate in my + mind what I should say: + </p> + <p> + Dear Friend: You do not know me. I am a passerby in the road. My name is + David Grayson. You do not know me, and it may seem odd to you to receive a + letter from an entire stranger. But I am something of a farmer myself, and + as I went by I could not help thinking of you and your family and your + farm. The fact is, I should like to look you up, and talk with you about + many things. I myself cultivate a number of curious fields, and raise many + kinds of crops— + </p> + <p> + At this interesting point my inspiration suddenly collapsed, for I had a + vision, at once amusing and disconcerting, of my hill farmer (and his + practical wife!) receiving such a letter (along with the country paper, a + circular advertising a cure for catarrh, and the most recent catalogue of + the largest mail-order house in creation). I could see them standing there + in their doorway, the man with his coat off, doubtfully scratching his + head as he read my letter, the woman wiping her hands on her apron and + looking over his shoulder, and a youngster squeezing between the two and + demanding, “What is it, Paw?” + </p> + <p> + I found myself wondering how they would receive such an unusual letter, + what they would take it to mean. And in spite of all I could do, I could + imagine no expression on their faces save one of incredulity and + suspicion. I could fairly see the shrewd worldly wise look come into the + farmer's face; I could hear him say: + </p> + <p> + “Ha, guess he thinks we ain't cut our eye-teeth!” And he would instantly + begin speculating as to whether this was a new scheme for selling him + second-rate nursery stock, or the smooth introduction of another + sewing-machine agent. + </p> + <p> + Strange world, strange world! Sometimes it seems to me that the hardest + thing of all to believe in is simple friendship. Is it not a comment upon + our civilization that it is so often easier to believe that a man is a + friend-for-profit, or even a cheat, than that he is frankly a well-wisher + of his neighbours? + </p> + <p> + These reflections put such a damper upon my enthusiasm that I was on the + point of taking again to the road, when it came to me powerfully: Why not + try the experiment? Why not? + </p> + <p> + “Friendship,” I said aloud, “is the greatest thing in the world. There is + no door it will not unlock, no problem it will not solve. It is, after + all, the only real thing in this world.” + </p> + <p> + The sound of my own voice brought me suddenly to myself, and I found that + I was standing there in the middle of the public road, one clenched fist + absurdly raised in air, delivering an oration to a congregation of + rural-mail boxes! + </p> + <p> + And yet, in spite of the humorous aspects of the idea, it still appeared + to me that such an experiment would not only fit in with the true object + of my journeying, but that it might be full of amusing and interesting + adventures. Straightway I got my notebook out of my bag and, sitting down + near the roadside, wrote my letter. I wrote it as though my life depended + upon it, with the intent of making some one household there in the hills + feel at least a little wave of warmth and sympathy from the great world + that was passing in the road below. I tried to prove the validity of a + kindly thought with no selling device attached to it; I tried to make it + such a word of frank companionship as I myself, working in my own fields, + would like to receive. + </p> + <p> + Among the letter-boxes in the group was one that stood a little detached + and behind the others, as though shrinking from such prosperous company. + It was made of unpainted wood, with leather hinges, and looked shabby in + comparison with the jaunty red, green, and gray paint of some of the other + boxes (with their cocky little metallic flags upraised). It bore the good + American name of Clark—T. N. Clark—and it seemed to me that I + could tell something of the Clarks by the box at the crossing. + </p> + <p> + “I think they need a friendly word,” I said to myself. + </p> + <p> + So I wrote the name T. N. Clark on my envelope and put the letter in his + box. + </p> + <p> + It was with a sense of joyous adventure that I now turned aside into the + sandy road and climbed the hill. My mind busied itself with thinking how I + should carry out my experiment, how I should approach these Clarks, and + how and what they were. A thousand ways I pictured to myself the receipt + of the letter: it would at least be something new for them, something just + a little disturbing, and I was curious to see whether it might open the + rift of wonder wide enough to let me slip into their lives. + </p> + <p> + I have often wondered why it is that men should be so fearful of new + ventures in social relationships, when I have found them so fertile, so + enjoyable. Most of us fear (actually fear) people who differ from + ourselves, either up or down the scale. Your Edison pries fearlessly into + the intimate secrets of matter; your Marconi employs the mysterious + properties of the “jellied ether,” but let a man seek to experiment with + the laws of that singular electricity which connects you and me (though + you be a millionaire and I a ditch-digger), and we think him a wild + visionary, an academic person. I think sometimes that the science of + humanity to-day is in about the state of darkness that the natural + sciences were when Linneus and Cuvier and Lamarck began groping for the + great laws of natural unity. Most of the human race is still groaning + under the belief that each of us is a special and unrelated creation, just + as men for ages saw no relationships between the fowls of the air, the + beasts of the field, and the fish of the sea. But, thank God, we are + beginning to learn that unity is as much a law of life as selfish + struggle, and love a more vital force than avarice or lust of power or + place. A Wandering Carpenter knew it, and taught it, twenty centuries ago. + </p> + <p> + “The next house beyond the ridge,” said the toothless old woman, pointing + with a long finger, “is the Clarks'. You can't miss it,” and I thought she + looked at me oddly. + </p> + <p> + I had been walking briskly for some three miles, and it was with keen + expectation that I now mounted the ridge and saw the farm for which I was + looking, lying there in the valley before me. It was altogether a wild and + beautiful bit of country—stunted cedars on the knolls of the rolling + hills, a brook trailing its way among alders and willows down a long + valley, and shaggy old fields smiling in the sun. As I came nearer I could + see that the only disharmony in the valley was the work (or idleness) of + men. A broken mowing-machine stood in the field where it had been left the + summer before, rusty and forlorn, and dead weeds marked the edges of a + field wherein the spring ploughing was now only half done. The whole + farmstead, indeed, looked tired. As for the house and barn, they had + reached that final stage of decay in which the best thing that could be + said of them was that they were picturesque. Everything was as different + from the farm of the energetic and joyous Stanleys, whose work I had + shared only a few days before, as anything that could be imagined. + </p> + <p> + Now, my usual way of getting into step with people is simplicity itself. I + take off my coat and go to work with them and the first thing I know we + have become first-rate friends. One doesn't dream of the possibilities of + companionship in labour until he has tried it. + </p> + <p> + But how shall one get into step with a man who is not stepping? + </p> + <p> + On the porch of the farmhouse, there in the mid-afternoon, a man sat idly; + and children were at play in the yard. I went in at the gate, not knowing + in the least what I should say or do, but determined to get hold of the + problem somewhere. As I approached the step, I swung my bag from my + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Don't want to buy nothin',” said the man. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said I, “that is fortunate, for I have nothing to sell. But you've + got something I want.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me dully. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” + </p> + <p> + “A drink of water.” + </p> + <p> + Scarcely moving his head, he called to a shy older girl who had just + appeared in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Mandy, bring a dipper of water.” + </p> + <p> + As I stood there the children gathered curiously around me, and the man + continued to sit in his chair, saying absolutely nothing, a picture of + dull discouragement. + </p> + <p> + “How they need something to stir them up,” I thought. + </p> + <p> + When I had emptied the dipper, I sat down on the top step of the porch, + and, without saying a word to the man, placed my bag beside me and began + to open it. The shy girl paused, dipper in hand, the children stood on + tiptoe, and even the man showed signs of curiosity. With studied + deliberation I took out two books I had with me and put them on the porch; + then I proceeded to rummage for a long time in the bottom of the bag as + though I could not find what I wanted. Every eye was glued upon me, and I + even heard the step of Mrs. Clark as she came to the but I did not look up + or speak. Finally I pulled out my tin whistle and, leaning back against + the porch column, placed it to my lips, and began playing in Tom Madison's + best style (eyes half closed, one toe tapping to the music, head nodding, + fingers lifted high from the stops), I began playing “Money Musk,” and + “Old Dan Tucker.” Oh, I put vim into it, I can tell you! And bad as my + playing was, I had from the start an absorption of attention from my + audience that Paderewski himself might have envied. I wound up with a + lively trill in the high notes and took my whistle from my lips with a + hearty laugh, for the whole thing had been downright good fun, the playing + itself, the make-believe which went with it, the surprise and interest in + the children's faces, the slow-breaking smile of the little girl with the + dipper. + </p> + <p> + “I'll warrant you, madam,” I said to the woman who now stood frankly in + the doorway with her hands wrapped in her apron, “you haven't heard those + tunes since you were a girl and danced to 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “You're right,” she responded heartily. + </p> + <p> + “I'll give you another jolly one,” I said, and, replacing my whistle, I + began with even greater zest to play “Yankee Doodle.” + </p> + <p> + When I had gone through it half a dozen times with such added variations + and trills as I could command, and had two of the children hopping about + in the yard, and the forlorn man tapping his toe to the tune, and a smile + on the face of the forlorn woman, I wound up with a rush and then, as if I + could hold myself in no longer (and I couldn't either!), I suddenly burst + out: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yankee doodle dandy! + Yankee doodle dandy! + Mind the music and the step, + And with the girls be handy. +</pre> + <p> + It may seem surprising, but I think I can understand why it was—when + I looked up at the woman in the doorway there were tears in her eyes! + </p> + <p> + “Do you know 'John Brown's Body'?” eagerly inquired the little girl with + the dipper, and then, as if she had done something quite bold and + improper, she blushed and edged toward the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “How does it go?” I asked, and one of the bold lads in the yard instantly + puckered his lips to show me, and immediately they were all trying it. + </p> + <p> + “Here goes,” said I, and for the next few minutes, and in my very best + style, I hung Jeff Davis on the sour apple-tree, and I sent the soul of + John Brown marching onward with an altogether unnecessary number of + hallelujahs. + </p> + <p> + I think sometimes that people—whole families of 'em—literally + perish for want of a good, hearty, whole-souled, mouth-opening, + throat-stretching, side-aching laugh. They begin to think themselves the + abused of creation, they begin to advise with their livers and to hate + their neighbours, and the whole world becomes a miserable dark blue place + quite unfit for human habitation. Well, all this is often only the result + of a neglect to exercise properly those muscles of the body (and of the + soul) which have to do with honest laughter. + </p> + <p> + I've never supposed I was an especially amusing person, but before I got + through with it I had the Clark family well loosened up with laughter, + although I wasn't quite sure some of the time whether Mrs. Clark was + laughing or crying. I had them all laughing and talking, asking questions + and answering them as though I were an old and valued neighbour. + </p> + <p> + Isn't it odd how unconvinced we often are by the crises in the lives of + other people? They seem to us trivial or unimportant; but the fact is, the + crises in the life of a boy, for example, or of a poor man, are as + commanding as the crises in the life of the greatest statesman or + millionaire, for they involve equally the whole personality, the entire + prospects. + </p> + <p> + The Clark family, I soon learned, had lost its pig. A trivial matter, you + say? I wonder if anything is ever trivial. A year of poor crops, sickness, + low prices, discouragement and, at the end of it, on top of it all, the + cherished pig had died! + </p> + <p> + From all accounts (and the man on the porch quite lost his apathy in + telling me about it) it must have been a pig of remarkable virtues and + attainments, a paragon of pigs—in whom had been bound up the many + possibilities of new shoes for the children, a hat for the lady, a new + pair of overalls for the gentleman, and I know not what other kindred + luxuries. I do not think, indeed, I ever had the portrait of a pig drawn + for me with quite such ardent enthusiasm of detail, and the more questions + I asked the more eager the story, until finally it became necessary for me + to go to the barn, the cattle-pen, the pig-pen and the chicken-house, that + I might visualize more clearly the scene of the tragedy. The whole family + trooped after us like a classic chorus, but Mr. Clark himself kept the + centre of the stage. + </p> + <p> + How plainly I could read upon the face of the land the story of this hill + farmer and his meagre existence—his ill-directed effort to wring a + poor living for his family from these upland fields, his poverty, and, + above all, his evident lack of knowledge of his own calling. Added to + these things, and perhaps the most depressing of all his difficulties, was + the utter loneliness of the task, the feeling that it mattered little to + any one whether the Clark family worked or not, or indeed whether they + lived or died. A perfectly good American family was here being wasted, + with the precious land they lived on, because no one had taken the trouble + to make them feel that they were a part of this Great American Job. + </p> + <p> + As we went back to the house, a freckled-nosed neighbour's boy came in at + the gate. + </p> + <p> + “A letter for you, Mr. Clark,” said he. “I brought it up with our mail.” + </p> + <p> + “A letter!” exclaimed Mrs. Clark. + </p> + <p> + “A letter!” echoed at least three of the children in unison. + </p> + <p> + “Probably a dun from Brewster,” said Mr. Clark discouragingly. + </p> + <p> + I felt a curious sensation about the heart, and an eagerness of interest I + have rarely experienced. I had no idea what a mere letter—a mere + unopened unread letter—would mean to a family like this. + </p> + <p> + “It has no stamp on it!” exclaimed the older girl. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clark turned it over wonderingly in her hands. Mr. Clark hastily put + on a pair of steel-bowed spectacles. + </p> + <p> + “Let me see it,” he said, and when he also had inspected it minutely he + solemnly tore open the envelope and drew forth my letter. + </p> + <p> + 'I assure you I never awaited the reading of any writing of mine with such + breathless interest. How would they take it? Would they catch the meaning + that I meant to convey? And would they suspect me of having written it? + </p> + <p> + Mr. Clark sat on the porch and read the letter slowly through to the end, + turned the sheet over and examined it carefully, and then began reading it + again to himself, Mrs. Clark leaning over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “What does it mean?” asked Mr. Clark. + </p> + <p> + “It's too good to be true,” said Mrs. Clark with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + I don't know how long the discussion might have continued—probably + for days or weeks—had not the older girl, now flushed of face and + rather pretty, looked at me and said breathlessly (she was as sharp as a + briar): + </p> + <p> + “You wrote it.” + </p> + <p> + I stood the battery of all their eyes for a moment, smiling and rather + excited. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said earnestly, “I wrote it, and I mean every word of it.” + </p> + <p> + I had anticipated some shock of suspicion and inquiry, but to my surprise + it was accepted as simply as a neighbourly good morning. I suppose the + mystery of it was eclipsed by my astonishing presence there upon the scene + with my tin whistle. + </p> + <p> + At any rate, it was a changed, eager, interested family which now occupied + the porch of that dilapidated farmhouse. And immediately we fell into a + lively discussion of crops and farming, and indeed the whole farm + question, in which I found both the man and his wife singularly acute—sharpened + upon the stone of hard experience. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, I found right here, as I have many times found among our American + farmers, an intelligence (a literacy growing out of what I believe to be + improper education) which was better able to discuss the problems of rural + life than to grapple with and solve them. A dull, illiterate Polish + farmer, I have found, will sometimes succeed much better at the job of + life than his American neighbour. + </p> + <p> + Talk with almost any man for half an hour, and you will find that his + conversation, like an old-fashioned song, has a regularly recurrent + chorus. I soon discovered Mr. Clark's chorus. + </p> + <p> + “Now, if only I had a little cash,” he sang, or, “If I had a few dollars, + I could do so and so.” + </p> + <p> + Why, he was as helplessly, dependent upon money as any soft-handed + millionairess. He considered himself poor and helpless because he lacked + dollars, whereas people are really poor and helpless only when they lack + courage and faith. + </p> + <p> + We were so much absorbed in our talk that I was greatly surprised to hear + Mrs. Clark's voice at the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you come in to supper?” + </p> + <p> + After we had eaten, there was a great demand for more of my tin whistle + (oh, I know how Caruso must feel!), and I played over every blessed tune I + knew, and some I didn't, four or five times, and after that we told + stories and cracked jokes in a way that must have been utterly astonishing + in that household. After the children had been, yes, driven to bed, Mr. + Clark seemed about to drop back into his lamentations over his condition + (which I have no doubt had come to give him a sort of pleasure), but I + turned to Mrs. Clark, whom I had come to respect very highly, and began to + talk about the little garden she had started, which was about the most + enterprising thing about the place. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it one of the finest things in this world,” said I, “to go out into + a good garden in the summer days and bring in loaded baskets filled with + beets and cabbages and potatoes, just for the gathering?” + </p> + <p> + I knew from the expression on Mrs. Clark's face that I had touched a + sounding note. + </p> + <p> + “Opening the green corn a little at the top to see if it is ready and then + stripping it off and tearing away the moist white husks—” + </p> + <p> + “And picking tomatoes?” said Mrs. Clark. “And knuckling the watermelons to + see if they are ripe? Oh, I tell you there are thousands of people in this + country who'd like to be able to pick their dinner in the garden!” + </p> + <p> + “It's fine!” said Mrs. Clark with amused enthusiasm, “but I like best to + hear the hens cackling in the barnyard in the morning after they've laid, + and to go and bring in the eggs.” + </p> + <p> + “Just like a daily present!” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es,” responded the soundly practical Mrs. Clark, thinking, no doubt, + that there were other aspects of the garden and chicken problem. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you another thing I like about a farmer's life,” said I, + “that's the smell in the house in the summer when there are preserves, or + sweet pickles, or jam, or whatever it is, simmering on the stove. No + matter where you are, up in the garret or down cellar, it's cinnamon, and + allspice, and cloves, and every sort of sugary odour. Now, that gets me + where I live!” + </p> + <p> + “It IS good!” said Mrs. Clark with a laugh that could certainly be called + nothing if not girlish. + </p> + <p> + All this time I had been keeping one eye on Mr. Clark. It was amusing to + see him struggling against a cheerful view of life. He now broke into the + conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Well, but—” he began. + </p> + <p> + Instantly I headed him off. + </p> + <p> + “And think,” said I, “of living a life in which you are beholden to no + man. It's a free life, the farmer's life. No one can discharge you because + you are sick, or tired, or old, or because you are a Democrat or a + Baptist!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but—” + </p> + <p> + “And think of having to pay no rent, nor of having to live upstairs in a + tenement!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Or getting run over by a street-car, or having the children play in the + gutters.” + </p> + <p> + “I never did like to think of what my children would do if we went to + town,” said Mrs. Clark. + </p> + <p> + “I guess not!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + The fact is, most people don't think half enough of themselves and of + their jobs; but before we went to bed that night I had the forlorn T. N. + Clark talking about the virtues of his farm in quite a surprising way. + </p> + <p> + I even saw him eying me two or three times with a shrewd look in his eyes + (your American is an irrepressible trader) as though I might possibly be + some would-be purchaser in disguise. + </p> + <p> + (I shall write some time a dissertation on the advantages, of wearing + shabby clothing.) + </p> + <p> + The farm really had many good points. One of them was a shaggy old orchard + of good and thriving but utterly neglected apple-trees. + </p> + <p> + “Man alive,” I said, when we went out to see it in the morning, “you've + got a gold mine here!” And I told him how in our neighbourhood we were + renovating the old orchards, pruning them back, spraying, and bringing + them into bearing again. + </p> + <p> + He had never, since he owned the place, had a salable crop of fruit. When + we came in to breakfast I quite stirred the practical Mrs. Clark with my + enthusiasm, and she promised at once to send for a bulletin on apple-tree + renovation, published by the state experiment station. I am sure I was no + more earnest in my advice than the conditions warranted. + </p> + <p> + After breakfast we went into the field, and I suggested that instead of + ploughing any more land—for the season was already late—we get + out all the accumulations of rotted manure from around the barn and strew + it on the land already ploughed and harrow it in. + </p> + <p> + “A good job on a little piece of land,” I said, “is far more profitable + than a poor job on a big piece of land.” + </p> + <p> + Without more ado we got his old team hitched up and began loading, and + hauling out the manure, and spent all day long at it. Indeed, such was the + height of enthusiasm which T. N. Clark now reached (for his was a + temperament that must either soar in the clouds or grovel in the mire), + that he did not wish to stop when Mrs. Clark called us in to supper. In + that one day his crop of corn, in perspective, overflowed his crib, he + could not find boxes and barrels for his apples, his shed would not hold + all his tobacco, and his barn was already being enlarged to accommodate a + couple more cows! He was also keeping bees and growing ginseng. + </p> + <p> + But it was fine, that evening, to see Mrs. Clark's face, the renewed hope + and courage in it. I thought as I looked at her (for she was the strong + and steady one in that house): + </p> + <p> + “If you can keep the enthusiasm up, if you can make that husband of yours + grow corn, and cows, and apples as you raise chickens and make garden, + there is victory yet in this valley.” + </p> + <p> + That night it rained, but in spite of the moist earth we spent almost all + of the following day hard at work in the field, and all the time talking + over ways and means for the future, but the next morning, early, I swung + my bag on my back and left them. + </p> + <p> + I shall not attempt to describe the friendliness of our parting. Mrs. + Clark followed me wistfully to the gate. + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell you—” she began, with the tears starting in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Then don't try—” said I, smiling. + </p> + <p> + And so I swung off down the country road, without looking back. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY + </h2> + <p> + In some strange deep way there is no experience of my whole pilgrimage + that I look back upon with so much wistful affection as I do upon the + events of the day—the day and the wonderful night—which + followed my long visit with the forlorn Clark family upon their hill farm. + At first I hesitated about including an account of it here because it + contains so little of what may be called thrilling or amusing incident. + </p> + <p> + “They want only the lively stories of my adventures,” I said to myself, + and I was at the point of pushing my notes to the edge of the table where + (had I let go) they would have fallen into the convenient oblivion of the + waste-basket. But something held me back. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I, “I'll tell it; if it means so much to me, it may mean + something to the friends who are following these lines.” + </p> + <p> + For, after all, it is not what goes on outside of a man, the clash and + clatter of superficial events, that arouses our deepest interest, but what + goes on inside. Consider then that in this narrative I shall open a little + door in my heart and let you look in, if you care to, upon the experiences + of a day and a night in which I was supremely happy. + </p> + <p> + If you had chanced to be passing, that crisp spring morning, you would + have seen a traveller on foot with a gray bag on his shoulder, swinging + along the country road; and you might have been astonished to see him lift + his hat at you and wish you a good morning. You might have turned to look + back at him, as you passed, and found him turning also to look back at you—and + wishing he might know you. But you would not have known what he was + chanting under his breath as he tramped (how little we know of a man by + the shabby coat he wears), nor how keenly he was enjoying the light airs + and the warm sunshine of that fine spring morning. + </p> + <p> + After leaving the hill farm he had walked five miles up the valley, had + crossed the ridge at a place called the Little Notch, where all the world + lay stretched before him like the open palm of his hand, and had come thus + to the boundaries of the Undiscovered Country. He had been for days + troubled with the deep problems of other people, and it seemed to him this + morning as though a great stone had been rolled from the door of his + heart, and that he was entering upon a new world—a wonderful, high, + free world. And, as he tramped, certain lines of a stanza long ago caught + up in his memory from some forgotten page came up to his lips, and these + were the words (you did not know as you passed) that he was chanting under + his breath as he tramped, for they seem charged with the spirit of the + hour: + </p> + <p> + I've bartered my sheets for a starlit bed; I've traded my meat for a crust + of bread; I've changed my book for a sapling cane, And I'm off to the end + of the world again. + </p> + <p> + In the Undiscovered Country that morning it was wonderful how fresh the + spring woods were, and how the birds sang in the trees, and how the brook + sparkled and murmured at the roadside. The recent rain had washed the + atmosphere until it was as clear and sparkling and heady as new wine, and + the footing was firm and hard. As one tramped he could scarcely keep from + singing or shouting aloud for the very joy of the day. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” I said to myself, “I've never been in a better country,” and it + did not seem to me I cared to know where the gray road ran, nor how far + away the blue hills were. + </p> + <p> + “It is wonderful enough anywhere here,” I said. + </p> + <p> + And presently I turned from the road and climbed a gently sloping hillside + among oak and chestnut trees. The earth was well carpeted for my feet, and + here and there upon the hillside, where the sun came through the green + roof of foliage, were warm splashes Of yellow light, and here and there, + on shadier slopes, the new ferns were spread upon the earth like some lacy + coverlet. I finally sat down at the foot of a tree where through a rift in + the foliage in the valley below I could catch a glimpse in the distance of + the meadows and the misty blue hills. I was glad to rest, just rest, for + the two previous days of hard labour, the labour and the tramping, had + wearied me, and I sat for a long time quietly looking about me, scarcely + thinking at all, but seeing, hearing, smelling—feeling the spring + morning, and the woods and the hills, and the patch of sky I could see. + </p> + <p> + For a long, long time I sat thus, but finally my mind began to flow again, + and I thought how fine it would be if I had some good friend there with me + to enjoy the perfect surroundings—some friend who would understand. + And I thought of the Vedders with whom I had so recently spent a wonderful + day; and I wished that they might be with me; there were so many things to + be said—to be left unsaid. Upon this it occurred to me, suddenly, + whimsically, and I exclaimed aloud: + </p> + <p> + “Why, I'll just call them up.” + </p> + <p> + Half turning to the trunk of the tree where I sat, I placed one hand to my + ear and the other to my lips and said: + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Central, give me Mr. Vedder.” + </p> + <p> + I waited a moment, smiling a little at my own absurdity and yet quite + captivated by the enterprise. + </p> + <p> + “Is this Mr. Vedder? Oh, Mrs. Vedder! Well, this is David Grayson.”.... + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the very same. A bad penny, a rolling stone.”.... + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I want you both to come here as quickly as you can. I have the most + important news for you. The mountain laurels are blooming, and the wild + strawberries are setting their fruit. Yes, yes, and in the fields—all + around here, to-day there are wonderful white patches of daisies, and from + where I sit I can see an old meadow as yellow as gold with buttercups. And + the bobolinks are hovering over the low spots. Oh, but it is fine here—and + we are not together!”.... + </p> + <p> + “No; I cannot give exact directions. But take the Long Road and turn at + the turning by the tulip-tree, and you will find me at home. Come right in + without knocking.” + </p> + <p> + I hung up the receiver. For a single instant it had seemed almost true, + and indeed I believe—I wonder— + </p> + <p> + Some day, I thought, just a bit sadly, for I shall probably not be here + then—some day, we shall be able to call our friends through space + and time. Some day we shall discover that marvellously simple coherer by + which we may better utilize the mysterious ether of love. + </p> + <p> + For a time I was sad with thoughts of the unaccomplished future, and then + I reflected that if I could not call up the Vedders so informally I could + at least write down a few paragraphs which would give them some faint + impression of that time and place. But I had no sooner taken out my + note-book and put down a sentence or two than I stuck fast. How foolish + and feeble written words are anyway! With what glib facility they + describe, but how inadequately they convey. A thousand times I have + thought to myself, “If only I could WRITE!” + </p> + <p> + Not being able to write I turned, as I have so often turned before, to + some good old book, trusting that I might find in the writing of another + man what I lacked in my own. I took out my battered copy of Montaigne and, + opening it at random, as I love to do, came, as luck would have it, upon a + chapter devoted to coaches, in which there is much curious (and worthless) + information, darkened with Latin quotations. This reading had an + unexpected effect upon me. + </p> + <p> + I could not seem to keep my mind down upon the printed page; it kept + bounding away at the sight of the distant hills, at the sound of a + woodpecker on a dead stub which stood near me, and at the thousand and one + faint rustlings, creepings, murmurings, tappings, which animate the + mystery of the forest. How dull indeed appeared the printed page in + comparison with the book of life, how shut-in its atmosphere, how tinkling + and distant the sound of its voices. Suddenly I shut my book with a snap. + </p> + <p> + “Musty coaches and Latin quotations!” I exclaimed. “Montaigne's no writer + for the open air. He belongs at a study fire on a quiet evening!” + </p> + <p> + I had anticipated, when I started out, many a pleasant hour by the + roadside or in the woods with my books, but this was almost the first + opportunity I had found for reading (as it was almost the last), so full + was the present world of stirring events. As for poor old Montaigne, I + have been out of harmony with him ever since, nor have I wanted him in the + intimate case at my elbow. + </p> + <p> + After a long time in the forest, and the sun having reached the high + heavens, I gathered up my pack and set forth again along the slope of the + hills—not hurrying, just drifting and enjoying every sight and + sound. And thus walking I came in sight, through the trees, of a + glistening pool of water and made my way straight toward it. + </p> + <p> + A more charming spot I have rarely seen. In some former time an old mill + had stood at the foot of the little valley, and a ruinous stone dam still + held the water in a deep, quiet pond between two round hills. Above it a + brook ran down through the woods, and below, with a pleasant musical + sound, the water dripped over the mossy stone lips of the dam and fell + into the rocky pool below. Nature had long ago healed the wounds of men; + she had half-covered the ruined mill with verdure, had softened the stone + walls of the dam with mosses and lichens, and had crept down the steep + hillside and was now leaning so far out over the pool that she could see + her reflection in the quiet water. + </p> + <p> + Near the upper end of the pond I found a clear white sand-bank, where no + doubt a thousand fishermen had stood, half hidden by the willows, to cast + for trout in the pool below. I intended merely to drink and moisten my + face, but as I knelt by the pool and saw my reflection in the clear water + wanted something more than that! In a moment I had thrown aside my bag and + clothes and found myself wading naked into the water. + </p> + <p> + It was cold! I stood a moment there in the sunny air, the great world open + around me, shuddering, for I dreaded the plunge—and then with a run, + a shout and a splash I took the deep water. Oh, but it was fine! With + long, deep strokes I carried myself fairly to the middle of the pond. The + first chill was succeeded by a tingling glow, and I can convey no idea + whatever of the glorious sense of exhilaration I had. I swam with the + broad front stroke, I swam on my side, head half submerged, with a deep + under stroke, and I rolled over on my back and swam with the water lapping + my chin. Thus I came to the end of the pool near the old dam, touched my + feet on the bottom, gave a primeval whoop, and dove back into the water + again. I have rarely experienced keener physical joy. After swimming thus + boisterously for a time, I quieted down to long, leisurely strokes, + conscious of the water playing across my shoulders and singing at my ears, + and finally, reaching the centre of the pond, I turned over on my back + and, paddling lazily, watched the slow procession of light clouds across + the sunlit openings of the trees above me. Away up in the sky I could see + a hawk slowly swimming about (in his element as I was in mine), and nearer + at hand, indeed fairly in the thicket about the pond, I could hear a + wood-thrush singing. + </p> + <p> + And so, shaking the water out of my hair and swimming with long and + leisurely strokes, I returned to the sand-bank, and there, standing in a + spot of warm sunshine, I dried myself with the towel from my bag. And I + said to myself: + </p> + <p> + “Surely it is good to be alive at a time like this!” + </p> + <p> + Slowly I drew on my clothes, idling there in the sand, and afterward I + found an inviting spot in an old meadow where I threw myself down on the + grass under an apple-tree and looked up into the shadowy places in the + foliage above me. I felt a delicious sense of physical well-being, and I + was pleasantly tired. + </p> + <p> + So I lay there—and the next thing I knew, I turned over, feeling + cold and stiff, and opened my eyes upon the dusky shadows of late evening. + I had been sleeping for hours! + </p> + <p> + The next few minutes (or was it an hour or eternity?), I recall as + containing some of the most exciting and, when all is said, amusing + incidents in my whole life. And I got quite a new glimpse of that + sometimes bumptious person known as David Grayson. + </p> + <p> + The first sensation I had was one of complete panic. What was I to do? + Where was I to go? + </p> + <p> + Hastily seizing my bag—and before I was half awake—I started + rapidly across the meadow, in my excitement tripping and falling several + times in the first hundred yards. In daylight I have no doubt that I + should easily have seen a gateway or at least an opening from the old + meadow, but in the fast-gathering darkness it seemed to me that the open + field was surrounded on every side by impenetrable forests. Absurd as it + may seem, for no one knows what his mind will do at such a moment, I + recalled vividly a passage from Stanley's story of his search for + Livingstone, in which he relates how he escaped from a difficult place in + the jungle by KEEPING STRAIGHT AHEAD. + </p> + <p> + I print these words in capitals because they seemed written that night + upon the sky. KEEPING STRAIGHT AHEAD, I entered the forest on one side of + the meadow (with quite a heroic sense of adventure), but scraped my shin + on a fallen log and ran into a tree with bark on it that felt like a + gigantic currycomb—and stopped! + </p> + <p> + Up to this point I think I was still partly asleep. Now, however, I waked + up. + </p> + <p> + “All you need,” said I to myself in my most matter-of-fact tone, “is a + little cool sense. Be quiet now and reason it out.” + </p> + <p> + So I stood there for some moments reasoning it out, with the result that I + turned back and found the meadow again. + </p> + <p> + “What a fool I've been!” I said. “Isn't it perfectly plain that I should + have gone down to the pond, crossed over the inlet, and reached the road + by the way I came?” + </p> + <p> + Having thus settled my problem, and congratulating myself on my + perspicacity, I started straight for the mill-pond, but to my utter + amazement, in the few short hours while I had been asleep, that entire + body of water had evaporated, the dam had disappeared, and the stream had + dried up. I must certainly present the facts in this remarkable case to + some learned society. + </p> + <p> + I then decided to return to the old apple-tree where I had slept, which + now seemed quite like home, but, strange to relate, the apple-tree had + also completely vanished from the enchanted meadow. At that I began to + suspect that in coming out of the forest I had somehow got into another + and somewhat similar old field. I have never had a more confused or eerie + sensation; not fear, but a sort of helplessness in which for an instant I + actually began to doubt whether it was I myself, David Grayson, who stood + there in the dark meadow, or whether I was the victim of a peculiarly bad + dream. I suppose many other people have had these sensations under similar + conditions, but they were new to me. + </p> + <p> + I turned slowly around and looked for a light; I think I never wanted so + much to see some sign of human habitation as I did at that moment. + </p> + <p> + What a coddled world we live in, truly. That being out after dark in a + meadow should so disturb the very centre of our being! In all my life, + indeed, and I suppose the same is true of ninety-nine out of a hundred of + the people in America to-day, I had never before found myself where + nothing stood between nature and me, where I had no place to sleep, no + shelter for the night—nor any prospect of finding one. I was + infinitely less resourceful at that moment than a rabbit, or a partridge, + or a gray squirrel. + </p> + <p> + Presently I sat down on the ground where I had been standing, with a vague + fear (absurd to look back upon) that it, too, in some manner might slip + away from under me. And as I sat there I began to have familiar gnawings + at the pit of my stomach, and I remembered that, save for a couple of Mrs. + Clark's doughnuts eaten while I was sitting on the hillside, ages ago, I + had had nothing since my early breakfast. + </p> + <p> + With this thought of my predicament—and the glimpse I had of myself + “hungry and homeless”—the humour of the whole situation suddenly + came over me, and, beginning with a chuckle, I wound up, as my mind dwelt + upon my recent adventures, with a long, loud, hearty laugh. + </p> + <p> + As I laughed—and what a roar it made in that darkness!—I got + up on my feet and looked up at the sky. One bright star shone out over the + woods, and in high heavens I could see dimly the white path of the Milky + Way. And all at once I seemed again to be in command of myself and of the + world. I felt a sudden lift and thrill of the spirits, a warm sense that + this too was part of the great adventure—the Thing Itself. + </p> + <p> + “This is the light,” I said looking up again at the sky and the single + bright star, “which is set for me to-night. I will make my bed by it.” + </p> + <p> + I can hope to make no one understand (unless he understands already) with + what joy of adventure I now crept through the meadow toward the wood. It + was an unknown, unexplored world I was in, and I, the fortunate + discoverer, had here to shift for himself, make his home under the stars! + Marquette on the wild shores of the Mississippi, or Stanley in Africa, had + no joy that I did not know at that moment. + </p> + <p> + I crept along the meadow and came at last to the wood. Here I chose a + somewhat sheltered spot at the foot of a large tree—and yet a spot + not so obscured that I could not look out over the open spaces of the + meadow and see the sky. Here, groping in the darkness, like some primitive + creature, I raked together a pile of leaves with my fingers, and found + dead twigs and branches of trees; but in that moist forest (where the rain + had fallen only the day before) my efforts to kindle a fire were + unavailing. Upon this, I considered using some pages from my notebook, but + another alternative suggested itself: + </p> + <p> + “Why not Montaigne?” + </p> + <p> + With that I groped for the familiar volume, and with a curious sensation + of satisfaction I tore out a handful of pages from the back. + </p> + <p> + “Better Montaigne than Grayson,” I said, with a chuckle. It was amazing + how Montaigne sparkled and crackled when he was well lighted. + </p> + <p> + “There goes a bundle of quotations from Vergil,” I said, “and there's his + observations on the eating of fish. There are more uses than one for the + classics.” + </p> + <p> + So I ripped out a good part of another chapter, and thus, by coaxing, got + my fire to going. It was not difficult after that to find enough fuel to + make it blaze up warmly. + </p> + <p> + I opened my bag and took out the remnants of the luncheon which Mrs. Clark + had given me that morning; and I was surprised and delighted to find, + among the other things, a small bottle of coffee. This suggested all sorts + of pleasing possibilities and, the spirit of invention being now awakened, + I got out my tin cup, split a sapling stick so I could fit it into the + handle, and set the cup, full of coffee, on the coals at the edge of the + fire. It was soon heated, and although I spilled some of it in getting it + off, and although it was well spiced with ashes, I enjoyed it, with Mrs. + Clark's doughnuts and sandwiches (some of which I toasted with a sapling + fork) as thoroughly, I think, as ever I enjoyed any meal. + </p> + <p> + How little we know—we who dread life—how much there is in + life! + </p> + <p> + My activities around the fire had warmed me to the bone, and after I was + well through with my meal I gathered a plentiful supply of wood and placed + it near at hand, I got out my waterproof cape and put it on, and, finally + piling more sticks on the fire, I sat down comfortably at the foot of the + tree. + </p> + <p> + I wish I could convey the mystery and the beauty of that night. Did you + ever sit by a campfire and watch the flames dance, and the sparks fly + upward into the cool dark air? Did you ever see the fitful light among the + tree-depths, at one moment opening vast shadowy vistas into the forest, at + the next dying downward and leaving it all in sombre mystery? It came to + me that night with the wonderful vividness of a fresh experience. + </p> + <p> + And what a friendly and companionable thing a campfire is! How generous + and outright it is! It plays for you when you wish so be lively, and it + glows for you when you wish to be reflective. + </p> + <p> + After a while, for I did not feel in the least sleepy, I stepped out of + the woods to the edge of the pasture. All around me lay the dark and + silent earth, and above the blue bowl of the sky, all glorious with the + blaze of a million worlds. Sometimes I have been oppressed by this + spectacle of utter space, of infinite distance, of forces too great for me + to grasp or understand, but that night it came upon me with fresh wonder + and power, and with a sense of great humility that I belonged here too, + that I was a part of it all—and would not be neglected or forgotten. + It seemed to me I never had a moment of greater faith than that. + </p> + <p> + And so, with a sense of satisfaction and peace, I returned to my fire. As + I sat there I could hear the curious noises of the woods, the little + droppings, cracklings, rustlings which seemed to make all the world alive. + I even fancied I could see small bright eyes looking out at my fire, and + once or twice I was almost sure I heard voices—whispering—, + perhaps the voices of the woods. + </p> + <p> + Occasionally I added, with some amusement, a few dry pages of Montaigne to + the fire, and watched the cheerful blaze that followed. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I, “Montaigne is not for the open spaces and the stars. Without + a roof over his head Montaigne would—well, die of sneezing.” + </p> + <p> + So I sat all night long there by the tree. Occasionally I dropped into a + light sleep, and then, as my fire died down, I grew chilly and awakened, + to build up the fire and doze again. I saw the first faint gray streaks of + dawn above the trees, I saw the pink glow in the east before the sunrise, + and I watched the sun himself rise upon a new day— + </p> + <p> + When I walked out into the meadow by daylight and looked about me + curiously, I saw, not forty rods away, the back of a barn. + </p> + <p> + “Be you the fellow that was daown in my cowpasture all night?” asked the + sturdy farmer. + </p> + <p> + “I'm that fellow,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you come right up to the house?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—” I said, and then paused. + </p> + <p> + “Well...” said I. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. THE HEDGE + </h2> + <h3> + Strange, strange, how small the big world is! + </h3> + <p> + “Why didn't you come right into the house?” the sturdy farmer had asked me + when I came out of the meadow where I had spent the night under the stars. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, turning the question as adroitly as I could, “I'll make it + up by going into the house now.” + </p> + <p> + So I went with him into his fine, comfortable house. + </p> + <p> + “This is my wife,” said he. + </p> + <p> + A woman stood there facing me. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “Mr. Grayson!” + </p> + <p> + I recalled swiftly a child—a child she seemed then—with braids + down her back, whom I had known when I first came to my farm. She had + grown up, married, and had borne three children, while I had been looking + the other way for a minute or two. She had not been in our neighborhood + for several years. + </p> + <p> + “And how is your sister and Doctor McAlway?” + </p> + <p> + Well, we had quite a wonderful visit, she made breakfast for me, asking + and talking eagerly as I ate. + </p> + <p> + “We've just had news that old Mr. Toombs is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Dead!” I exclaimed, dropping my fork; “old Nathan Toombs!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he was my uncle. Did you know him?” + </p> + <p> + “I knew Nathan Toombs,” I said. + </p> + <p> + I spent two days there with the Ransomes, for they would not hear of my + leaving, and half of our spare time, I think, was spent in discussing + Nathan Toombs. I was not able to get him out of my mind for days, for his + death was one of those events which prove so much and leave so much + unproven. + </p> + <p> + I can recall vividly my astonishment at the first evidence I ever had of + the strange old man or of his work. It was not very long after I came to + my farm to live. I had taken to spending my spare evenings—the long + evenings of summer—in exploring the country roads for miles around, + getting acquainted with each farmstead, each bit of grove and meadow and + marsh, making my best bow to each unfamiliar hill, and taking everywhere + that toll of pleasure which comes of quiet discovery. + </p> + <p> + One evening, having walked farther than usual, I came quite suddenly + around a turn in the road and saw stretching away before me an + extraordinary sight. + </p> + <p> + I feel that I am conveying no adequate impression of what I beheld by + giving it any such prim and decorous name as—a Hedge. It was a + menagerie, a living, green menagerie! I had no sooner seen it than I began + puzzling my brain as to whether one of the curious ornaments into which + the upper part of the hedge had been clipped and trimmed was made to + represent the head of a horse, or a camel, or an Egyptian sphinx. + </p> + <p> + The hedge was of arbor vitae and as high as a man's waist. At more or less + regular intervals the trees in it had been allowed to grow much taller and + had been wonderfully pruned into the similitude of towers, pinnacles, + bells, and many other strange designs. Here and there the hedge held up a + spindling umbrella of greenery, sometimes a double umbrella—a little + one above the big one—and over the gateway at the centre; as a sort + of final triumph, rose a grandiose arch of interlaced branches upon which + the artist had outdone himself in marvels of ornamentation. + </p> + <p> + I shall never forget the sensation of delight I had over this discovery, + or of how I walked, tiptoe, along the road in front, studying each of the + marvellous adornments. How eagerly, too, I looked over at the house beyond—a + rather bare, bleak house set on a slight knoll or elevation and guarded at + one corner by a dark spruce tree. At some distance behind I saw a number + of huge barns, a cattle yard and a silo—all the evidences of + prosperity—with well-nurtured fields, now yellowing with the summer + crops, spreading pleasantly away on every hand. + </p> + <p> + It was nearly dark before I left that bit of roadside, and I shall never + forget the eerie impression I had as I turned back to take a final look at + the hedge, the strange, grotesque aspect it presented there in the half + light with the bare, lonely house rising from the knoll behind. + </p> + <p> + It was not until some weeks later that I met the owner of the wonderful + hedge. By that time, however, having learned of my interest, I found the + whole countryside alive with stories about it and about Old Nathan Toombs, + its owner. It was as though I had struck the rock of refreshment in a + weary land. + </p> + <p> + I remember distinctly how puzzled was by the stories I heard. The + neighbourhood portrait—and ours is really a friendly neighbourhood—was + by no means flattering. Old Toombs was apparently of that type of + hard-shelled, grasping, self-reliant, old-fashioned farmer not unfamiliar + to many country neighbourhoods. He had come of tough old American stock + and he was a worker, a saver, and thus he had grown rich, the richest + farmer in the whole neighbourhood. He was a regular individualistic + American. + </p> + <p> + “A dour man,” said the Scotch Preacher, “but just—you must admit + that he is just.” + </p> + <p> + There was no man living about whom the Scotch Preacher could not find + something good to say. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, just,” replied Horace, “but hard—hard, and as mean as pusley.” + </p> + <p> + This portrait was true enough in itself, for I knew just the sort of an + aggressive, undoubtedly irritable old fellow it pictured, but somehow, try + as I would, I could not see any such old fellow wasting his moneyed hours + clipping bells, umbrellas, and camel's heads on his ornamental greenery. + It left just that incongruity which is at once the lure, the humour, and + the perplexity of human life. Instead of satisfying my curiosity I was + more anxious than ever to see Old Toombs with my own eyes. + </p> + <p> + But the weeks passed and somehow I did not meet him. He was a lonely, + unneighbourly old fellow. He had apparently come to fit into the community + without ever really becoming a part of it. His neighbours accepted him as + they accepted a hard hill in the town road. From time to time he would + foreclose a mortgage where he had loaned money to some less thrifty + farmer, or he would extend his acres by purchase, hard cash down, or he + would build a bigger barn. When any of these things happened the community + would crowd over a little, as it were, to give him more room. It is a + curious thing, and tragic, too, when you come to think of it, how the + world lets alone those people who appear to want to be let alone. “I can + live to myself,” says the unneighbourly one. “Well, live to yourself, + then,” cheerfully responds the world, and it goes about its more or less + amusing affairs and lets the unneighbourly one cut himself off. + </p> + <p> + So our small community had let Old Toombs go his way with all his money, + his acres, his hedge, and his reputation for being a just man. + </p> + <p> + Not meeting him, therefore, in the familiar and friendly life of the + neighbourhood, I took to walking out toward his farm, looking freshly at + the wonderful hedge and musing upon that most fascinating of all subjects—how + men come to be what they are. And at last I was rewarded. + </p> + <p> + One day I had scarcely reached the end of the hedge when I saw Old Toombs + himself, moving toward me down the country road. Though I had never seen + him before, I was at no loss to identify him. The first and vital + impression he gave me, if I can compress it into a single word, was, I + think, force—force. He came stubbing down the country road with a + brown hickory stick in his hand which at every step he set vigorously into + the soft earth. Though not tall, he gave the impression of being + enormously strong. He was thick, solid, firm—thick through the body, + thick through the thighs; and his shoulders—what shoulders they + were!—round like a maple log; and his great head with its thatching + of coarse iron-gray hair, though thrust slightly forward, seemed set + immovably upon them. + </p> + <p> + He presented such a forbidding appearance that I was of two minds about + addressing him. Dour he was indeed! Nor shall I ever forget how he looked + when I spoke to him. He stopped short there in the road. On his big square + nose he wore a pair of curious spring-bowed glasses with black rims. For a + moment he looked at me through these glasses, raising his chin a little, + and then, deliberately wrinkling his nose, they fell off and dangled at + the length of the faded cord by which they were hung. There was something + almost uncanny about this peculiar habit of his and of the way in which, + afterward, he looked at me from under his bushy gray brows. This was in + truth the very man of the neighbourhood portrait. + </p> + <p> + “I am a new settler here,” I said, “and I've been interested in looking at + your wonderful hedge.” + </p> + <p> + The old man's eyes rested upon me a moment with a mingled look of + suspicion and hostility. + </p> + <p> + “So you've heard o' me,” he said in a high-pitched voice, “and you've + heard o' my hedge.” + </p> + <p> + Again he paused and looked me over. “Well,” he said, with an indescribably + harsh, cackling laugh, “I warrant you've heard nothing good o' me down + there. I'm a skinflint, ain't I? I'm a hard citizen, ain't I? I grind the + faces o' the poor, don't I?” + </p> + <p> + At first his words were marked by a sort of bitter humour, but as he + continued to speak his voice rose higher and higher until it was + positively menacing. + </p> + <p> + There were just two things I could do—haul down the flag and retreat + ingloriously, or face the music. With a sudden sense of rising spirits—for + such things do not often happen to a man in a quiet country road—I + paused a moment, looking him square in the eye. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said, with great deliberation, “you've given me just about the + neighborhood picture of yourself as I have had it. They do say you are a + skinflint, yes, and a hard man. They say that you are rich and friendless; + they say that while you are a just man, you do not know mercy. These are + terrible things to say of any man if they are true.” + </p> + <p> + I paused. The old man looked for a moment as though he were going to + strike me with his stick, but he neither stirred nor spoke. It was + evidently a wholly new experience for him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said, “you are not popular in this community, but what do you + suppose I care about that? I'm interested in your hedge. What I'm curious + to know—and I might as well tell you frankly—is how such a man + as you are reputed to be could grow such an extraordinary hedge. You must + have been at it a very long time.” + </p> + <p> + I was surprised at the effect of my words. The old man turned partly aside + and looked for a moment along the proud and flaunting embattlements of the + green marvel before us. Then he said in a moderate voice: + </p> + <p> + “It's a putty good hedge, a putty good hedge.” + </p> + <p> + “I've got him,” I thought exultantly, “I've got him!” + </p> + <p> + “How long ago did you start it?” I pursued my advantage eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Thirty-two years come spring,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Thirty-two years!” I repeated; “you've been at it a long time.” + </p> + <p> + With that I plied him with questions in the liveliest manner, and in five + minutes I had the gruff old fellow stumping along at my side and pointing + out the various notable-features of his wonderful creation. His suppressed + excitement was quite wonderful to see. He would point his hickory stick + with a poking motion, and, when he looked up, instead of throwing back his + big, rough head, he bent at the hips, thus imparting an impression of + astonishing solidity. + </p> + <p> + “It took me all o' ten years to get that bell right,” he said, and, “Take + a look at that arch: now what is your opinion o' that?” + </p> + <p> + Once, in the midst of our conversation, he checked himself abruptly and + looked around at me with a sudden dark expression of suspicion. I saw + exactly what lay in his mind, but I continued my questioning as though I + perceived no change in him. It was only momentary, however, and he was + soon as much interested as before. He talked as though he had not had such + an opportunity before in years—and I doubt whether he had. It was + plain to see that if any one ever loved anything in this world, Old Toombs + loved that hedge of his. Think of it, indeed! He had lived with it, + nurtured it, clipped it, groomed it—for thirty-two years. + </p> + <p> + So we walked down the sloping field within the hedge, and it seemed as + though one of the deep mysteries of human nature was opening there before + me. What strange things men set their hearts upon! + </p> + <p> + Thus, presently, we came nearly to the farther end of the hedge. Here the + old man stopped and turned around, facing me. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see that valley?” he asked. “Do you see that slopin' valley up + through the meadow?” + </p> + <p> + His voice rose suddenly to a sort of high-pitched violence. + </p> + <p> + “That' passel o' hounds up there,” he said, “want to build a road down my + valley.” + </p> + <p> + He drew his breath fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “They want to build a road through my land. They want to ruin my farm—they + want to cut down my hedge. I'll fight 'em. I'll fight 'em. I'll show 'em + yet!” + </p> + <p> + It was appalling. His face grew purple, his eyes narrowed to pin points + and grew red and angry—like the eyes of an infuriated boar. His + hands shook. Suddenly he turned upon me, poising his stick in his hand, + and said violently. + </p> + <p> + “And who are you? Who are you? Are you one of these surveyor fellows?” + </p> + <p> + “My name,” I answered as quietly as I could, “is Grayson. I live on the + old Mather farm. I am not in the least interested in any of your road + troubles.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me a moment more, and then seemed to shake himself or + shudder, his eyes dropped away and he began walking toward his house. He + had taken only a few steps, however, before he turned, and, without + looking at me, asked if I would like to see the tools he used for trimming + his hedge. When I hesitated, for I was decidedly uncomfortable, he came up + to me and laid his hand awkwardly on my arm. + </p> + <p> + “You'll see something, I warrant, you never see before.” + </p> + <p> + It was so evident that he regretted his outbreak that I followed him, and + he showed me an odd double ladder set on low wheels which he said he used + in trimming the higher parts of his hedge. + </p> + <p> + “It's my own invention,” he said with pride. + </p> + <p> + “And that”—he pointed as we came out of the tool shed—“is my + house—a good house. I planned it all myself. I never needed to take + lessons of any carpenter I ever see. And there's my barns. What do you + think o' my barns? Ever see any bigger ones? They ain't any bigger in this + country than Old Toombs's barns. They don't like Old Toombs, but they + ain't any of one of 'em can ekal his barns!” + </p> + <p> + He followed me down to the roadside now quite loquacious. Even after I had + thanked him and started to go he called after me. + </p> + <p> + When I stopped he came forward hesitatingly—and I had the + impressions, suddenly, and for the first time that he was an old man. It + may have been the result of his sudden fierce explosion of anger, but his + hand shook, his face was pale, and he seemed somehow broken. + </p> + <p> + “You—you like my hedge?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “It is certainly wonderful hedge,” I said. “I never have seen anything + like it?” + </p> + <p> + “The' AIN'T nothing like it,” he responded, quickly. “The' ain't nothing + like it anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + In the twilight as I passed onward I saw the lonely figure of the old man + moving with his hickory stick up the pathway to his lonely house. The poor + rich old man! + </p> + <p> + “He thinks he can live wholly to himself,” I said aloud. + </p> + <p> + I thought, as I tramped homeward, of our friendly and kindly community, of + how we often come together of an evening with skylarking and laughter, of + how we weep with one another, of how we join in making better roads and + better schools, and building up the Scotch Preacher's friendly little + church. And in all these things Old Toombs has never had a part. He is not + even missed. + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact, I reflected, and this is a strange, deep thing, no + man is in reality more dependent upon the community which he despises and + holds at arm's length than this same Old Nathan Toombs. Everything he has, + everything he does, gives evidence of it. And I don't mean this in any + mere material sense, though of course his wealth and his farm would mean + no more than the stones in his hills to him if he did not have us here + around him. Without our work, our buying, our selling, our governing, his + dollars would be dust. But we are still more necessary to him in other + ways: the unfriendly man is usually the one who demands most from his + neighbours. Thus, if he have not people's love or confidence, then he will + smite them until they fear him, or admire him, or hate him. Oh, no man, + however may try, can hold himself aloof! + </p> + <p> + I came home deeply stirred from my visit with Old Toombs and lost no time + in making further inquiries. I learned, speedily, that there was indeed + something in the old man's dread of a road being built through his farm. + The case was already in the courts. His farm was a very old one and + extensive, and of recent years a large settlement of small farmers had + been developing the rougher lands in the upper part of the townships + called the Swan Hill district. Their only way to reach the railroad was by + a rocky, winding road among the 'hills,' while their outlet was down a + gently sloping valley through Old Toombs's farm. They were now so numerous + and politically important that they had stirred up the town authorities. A + proposition had been made to Old Toombs for a right-of-way; they argued + with him that it was a good thing for the whole country, that it would + enhance the values of his own upper lands, and that they would pay him far + more for a right-of-way than the land was actually worth, but he had + spurned them—I can imagine with what vehemence. + </p> + <p> + “Let 'em drive round,” he said. “Didn't they know what they'd have to do + when they settled up there? What a passel o' curs! They can keep off o' my + land, or I'll have the law on 'em.” + </p> + <p> + And thus the matter came to the courts with the town attempting to condemn + the land for a road through Old Toombs's farm. + </p> + <p> + “What can we do?” asked the Scotch Preacher, who was deeply distressed by + the bitterness of feeling displayed. “There is no getting to the man. He + will listen to no one.” + </p> + <p> + At one time I thought of going over and talking with Old Toombs myself, + for it seemed that I had been able to get nearer to him than any one had + in a long time. But I dreaded it. I kept dallying—for what, indeed, + could I have said to him? If he had been suspicious of me before, how much + more hostile he might be when I expressed an interest in his difficulties. + As to reaching the Swan Hill settlers, they were now aroused to an + implacable state of bitterness; and they had the people of the whole + community with them, for no one liked Old Toombs. + </p> + <p> + Thus while I hesitated time passed and my next meeting with Old Toombs, + instead of being premeditated, came about quite unexpectedly. I was + walking in the town road late one afternoon when I heard a wagon rattling + behind me, and then, quite suddenly, a shouted, “Whoa.” + </p> + <p> + Looking around, I saw Old Toombs, his great solid figure mounted high on + the wagon seat, the reins held fast in the fingers of one hand. I was + struck by the strange expression in his face—a sort of grim + exaltation. As I stepped aside he burst out in a loud, shrill, cackling + laugh: + </p> + <p> + “He-he-he—he-he-he—” + </p> + <p> + I was too astonished to speak at once. Ordinarily when I meet any one in + the town road it is in my heart to cry out to him, + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, friend,” or, “How are you, brother?” but I had no such + prompting that day. + </p> + <p> + “Git in, Grayson,” he said; “git in, git in.” + </p> + <p> + I climbed up beside him, and he slapped me on the knee with another burst + of shrill laughter. + </p> + <p> + “They thought they had the old man,” he said, starting up his horses. + “They thought there weren't no law left in Israel. I showed 'em.” + </p> + <p> + I cannot convey the bitter triumphancy of his voice. + </p> + <p> + “You mean the road case?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Road case!” he exploded, “they wan't no road case; they didn't have no + road case. I beat 'em. I says to 'em, 'What right hev any o' you on my + property? Go round with you,' I says. Oh, I beat 'em. If they'd had their + way, they'd 'a' cut through my hedge—the hounds!” + </p> + <p> + When he set me down at my door, I had said hardly a word. There seemed + nothing that could be said. I remember I stood for some time watching the + old man as he rode away, his wagon jolting in the country road, his stout + figure perched firmly in the seat. I went in with a sense of heaviness at + the heart. + </p> + <p> + “Harriet,” I said, “there are some things in this world beyond human + remedy.” + </p> + <p> + Two evenings later I was surprised to see the Scotch Preacher drive up to + my gate and hastily tie his horse. + </p> + <p> + “David,” said he, “there's bad business afoot. A lot of the young fellows + in Swan Hill are planning a raid on Old Toombs's hedge. They are coming + down to-night.” + </p> + <p> + I got my hat and jumped in with him. We drove up the hilly road and out + around Old Toombs's farm and thus came, near to the settlement. I had no + conception of the bitterness that the lawsuit had engendered. + </p> + <p> + “Where once you start men hating one another,” said the Scotch Preacher, + “there's utterly no end of it.” + </p> + <p> + I have seen our Scotch Preacher in many difficult places, but never have I + seen him rise to greater heights than he did that night. It is not in his + preaching that Doctor McAlway excels, but what a power he is among men! He + was like some stern old giant, standing there and holding up the portals + of civilization. I saw men melt under his words like wax; I saw wild young + fellows subdued into quietude; I saw unwise old men set to thinking. + </p> + <p> + “Man, man,” he'd say, lapsing in his earnestness into the broad Scotch + accent of his youth, “you canna' mean plunder, and destruction, and riot! + You canna! Not in this neighbourhood!” + </p> + <p> + “What about Old Toombs?” shouted one of the boys. + </p> + <p> + I never shall forget how Doctor McAlway drew himself up nor the majesty + that looked from his eye. + </p> + <p> + “Old Toombs!” he said in a voice that thrilled one to the bone, “Old + Toombs! Have you no faith, that you stand in the place of Almighty God and + measure punishments?” + </p> + <p> + Before we left it was past midnight and we drove home, almost silent, in + the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor McAlway,” I said, “if Old Toombs could know the history of this + night it might change his point of view.” + </p> + <p> + “I doot it,” said the Scotch Preacher. “I doot it.” + </p> + <p> + The night passed serenely; the morning saw Old Toombs's hedge standing as + gorgeous as ever. The community had again stepped aside and let Old Toombs + have his way: they had let him alone, with all his great barns, his wide + acres and his wonderful hedge. He probably never even knew what had + threatened him that night, nor how the forces of religion, of social + order, of neighbourliness in the community which he despised had, after + all, held him safe. There is a supreme faith among common people—it + is, indeed, the very taproot of democracy—that although the + unfriendly one may persist long in his power and arrogance, there is a + moving Force which commands events. + </p> + <p> + I suppose if I were writing a mere story I should tell how Old Toombs was + miraculously softened at the age of sixty-eight years, and came into new + relationships with his neighbours, or else I should relate how the mills + of God, grinding slowly, had crushed the recalcitrant human atom into + dust. + </p> + <p> + Either of these results conceivably might have happened—all things + are possible—and being ingeniously related would somehow have + answered a need in the human soul that the logic of events be constantly + and conclusively demonstrated in the lives of individual men and women. + </p> + <p> + But as a matter of fact, neither of these things did happen in this quiet + community of ours. There exists, assuredly, a logic of events, oh, a + terrible, irresistible logic of events, but it is careless of the span of + any one man's life. We would like to have each man enjoy the sweets of his + own virtues and suffer the lash of his own misdeeds—but it rarely so + happens in life. No, it is the community which lives or dies, is + regenerated or marred by the deeds of men. + </p> + <p> + So Old Toombs continued to live. So he continued to buy more land, raise + more cattle, collect more interest, and the wonderful hedge continued to + flaunt its marvels still more notably upon the country road. To what end? + Who knows? Who knows? + </p> + <p> + I saw him afterward from time to time, tried to maintain some sort of + friendly relations with him; but it seemed as the years passed that he + grew ever lonelier and more bitter, and not only more friendless, but + seemingly more incapable of friendliness. In times past I have seen what + men call tragedies—I saw once a perfect young man die in his + strength—but it seems to me I never knew anything more tragic than + the life and death of Old Toombs. If it cannot be said of a man when he + dies that either his nation, his state, his neighborhood, his family, or + at least his wife or child, is better for his having lived, what CAN be + said for him? + </p> + <p> + Old Toombs is dead. Like Jehoram, King of Judah, of whom it is terribly + said in the Book of Chronicles, “he departed without being desired.” + </p> + <p> + Of this story of Nathan Toombs we talked much and long there in the + Ransome home. I was with them, as I said, about two days—kept inside + most of the time by a driving spring rain which filled the valley with a + pale gray mist and turned all the country roads into running streams. One + morning, the weather having cleared, I swung my bag to my shoulder, and + with much warmth of parting I set my face again to the free road and the + open country. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. THE MAN POSSESSED + </h2> + <p> + I suppose I was predestined (and likewise foreordained) to reach the city + sooner or later. My fate in that respect was settled for me when I placed + my trust in the vagrant road. I thought for a time that I was more than a + match for the Road, but I soon learned that the Road was more than a match + for me. Sly? There's no name for it. Alluring, lovable, mysterious—as + the heart of a woman. Many a time I followed the Road where it led through + innocent meadows or climbed leisurely hill slopes only to find that it had + crept around slyly and led me before I knew it into the back door of some + busy town. + </p> + <p> + Mostly in this country the towns squat low in the valleys, they lie in + wait by the rivers, and often I scarcely know of their presence until I am + so close upon them that I can smell the breath of their heated nostrils + and hear their low growlings and grumblings. + </p> + <p> + My fear of these lesser towns has never been profound. I have even been + bold enough, when I came across one of them, to hasten straight through as + though assured that Cerberus was securely chained; but I found, after a + time, what I might indeed have guessed, that the Road, also led + irresistibly to the lair of the Old Monster himself, the He-one of the + species, where he lies upon the plain, lolling under his soiled gray + blanket of smoke. + </p> + <p> + It is wonderful to be safe at home again, to watch the tender, reddish + brown shoots of the Virginia creeper reaching in at my study window, to + see the green of my own quiet fields, to hear the peaceful clucking of the + hens in the sunny dooryard—and Harriet humming at her work in the + kitchen. + </p> + <p> + When I left the Ransomes that fine spring morning, I had not the slightest + presentiment of what the world held in store for me. After being a + prisoner of the weather for so long, I took to the Road with fresh joy. + All the fields were of a misty greenness and there were pools still + shining in the road, but the air was deliciously clear, clean, and soft. I + came through the hill country for three or four miles, even running down + some of the steeper places for the very joy the motion gave me, the feel + of the air on my face. + </p> + <p> + Thus I came finally to the Great Road, and stood for a moment looking + first this way, then that. + </p> + <p> + “Where now?” I asked aloud. + </p> + <p> + With an amusing sense of the possibilities that lay open before me, I + closed my eyes, turned slowly around several times and then stopped. When + I opened my eyes I was facing nearly southward: and that way I set out, + not knowing in the least what Fortune had presided at that turning. If I + had gone the other way— + </p> + <p> + I walked vigorously for two or three hours, meeting or passing many people + upon the busy road. Automobiles there were in plenty, and loaded wagons, + and jolly families off for town, and a herdsman driving sheep, and small + boys on their way to school with their dinner pails, and a gypsy wagon + with lean, led horses following behind, and even a Jewish peddler with a + crinkly black beard, whom I was on the very point of stopping. + </p> + <p> + “I should like sometime to know a Jew,” I said to myself. + </p> + <p> + As I travelled, feeling like one who possesses hidden riches, I came quite + without warning upon the beginning of my great adventure. I had been + looking for a certain thing all the morning, first on one side of the + road, then the other, and finally I was rewarded. There it was, nailed + high upon tree, the curious, familiar sign: + </p> + <p> + [ REST ] + </p> + <p> + I stopped instantly. It seemed like an old friend. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said I. “I'm not at all tired, but I want to be agreeable.” + </p> + <p> + With that I sat down on a convenient stone, took off my hat, wiped my + forehead, and looked about me with satisfaction, for it was a pleasant + country. + </p> + <p> + I had not been sitting there above two minutes when my eyes fell upon one + of the oddest specimens of humanity (I thought then) that ever I saw. He + had been standing near the roadside, just under the tree upon which I had + seen the sign, “Rest.” My heart dotted and carried one. + </p> + <p> + “The sign man himself!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + I arose instantly and walked down the road toward him. + </p> + <p> + “A man has only to stop anywhere here,” I said exultantly, “and things + happen.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger's appearance was indeed extraordinary. He seemed at first + glimpse to be about twice as large around the hips as he was at the + shoulders, but this I soon discovered to be due to no natural avoir-dupois + but to the prodigious number of soiled newspapers and magazines with which + the low-hanging pockets of his overcoat were stuffed. For he was still + wearing an old shabby overcoat though the weather was warm and bright—and + on his head was an odd and outlandish hat. It was of fur, flat at the top, + flat as a pie tin, with the moth-eaten earlaps turned up at the sides and + looking exactly like small furry ears. These, with the round steel + spectacles which he wore—the only distinctive feature of his + countenance—gave him an indescribably droll appearance. + </p> + <p> + “A fox!” I thought. + </p> + <p> + Then I looked at him more closely. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I, “an owl, an owl!” + </p> + <p> + The stranger stepped out into the road and evidently awaited my approach. + My first vivid impression of his face—I remember it afterward + shining with a strange inward illumination—was not favourable. It + was a deep-lined, scarred, worn-looking face, insignificant if not indeed + ugly in its features, and yet, even at the first glance, revealing + something inexplainable—incalculable— + </p> + <p> + “Good day, friend,” I said heartily. + </p> + <p> + Without replying to my greeting, he asked: + </p> + <p> + “Is this the road to Kilburn?”—with a faint flavour of foreignness + in his words. + </p> + <p> + “I think it is,” I replied, and I noticed as he lifted his hand to thank + me that one finger was missing and that the hand itself was cruelly + twisted and scarred. + </p> + <p> + The stranger instantly set off up the Road without giving me much more + attention than he would have given any other signpost. I stood a moment + looking after him—the wings of his overcoat beating about his legs + and the small furry ears on his cap wagging gently. + </p> + <p> + “There,” said I aloud, “is a man who is actually going somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + So many men in this world are going nowhere in particular that when one + comes along—even though he be amusing and insignificant—who is + really (and passionately) going somewhere, what a stir he communicates to + a dull world! We catch sparks of electricity from the very friction of his + passage. + </p> + <p> + It was so with this odd stranger. Though at one moment I could not help + smiling at him, at the next I was following him. + </p> + <p> + “It may be,” said I to myself, “that this is really the sign man!” + </p> + <p> + I felt like Captain Kidd under full sail to capture a treasure ship; and + as I approached I was much agitated as to the best method of grappling and + boarding. I finally decided, being a lover of bold methods, to let go my + largest gun first—for moral effect. + </p> + <p> + “So,” said I, as I ran alongside, “you are the man who puts up the signs.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped and looked at me. + </p> + <p> + “What signs?” + </p> + <p> + “Why the sign 'Rest' along this road.” + </p> + <p> + He paused for some seconds with a perplexed expression on his face. + </p> + <p> + “Then you are not the sign man?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied, “I ain't any sign man.” + </p> + <p> + I was not a little disappointed, but having made my attack, I determined + to see if there was any treasure aboard—which, I suppose, should be + the procedure of any well-regulated pirate. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going this way myself,” I said, “and if you have no objections—” + </p> + <p> + He stood looking at me curiously, indeed suspiciously, through his round + spectacles. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got the passport?” he asked finally. + </p> + <p> + “The passport!” I exclaimed, mystified in my turn. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said he, “the passport. Let me see your hand.” + </p> + <p> + When I held out my hand he looked at it closely for a moment, and then + took it with a quick warm pressure in one of his, and gave it a little + shake, in a way not quite American. + </p> + <p> + “You are one of us,” said he, “you work.” + </p> + <p> + I thought at first that it was a bit of pleasantry, and I was about to + return it in kind when I saw plainly in his face a look of solemn intent. + </p> + <p> + “So,” he said, “we shall travel like comrades.” + </p> + <p> + He thrust his scarred hand through my arm, and we walked up the road side + by side, his bulging pockets beating first against his legs and then + against mine, quite impartially. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said the stranger, “that we shall be arrested at Kilburn.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall!” I exclaimed with something, I admit, of a shock. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “but it is all in the day's work.” + </p> + <p> + “How is that?” + </p> + <p> + He stopped in the road and faced me. Throwing back his overcoat he pointed + to a small red button on his coat lapel. + </p> + <p> + “They don't want me in Kilburn,” said he, “the mill men are strikin' + there, and the bosses have got armed men on every corner. Oh, the + capitalists are watchin' for me, all right.” + </p> + <p> + I cannot convey the strange excitement I felt. It seemed as though these + words suddenly opened a whole new world around me—a world I had + heard about for years, but never entered. And the tone in which he had + used the word “capitalist!” I had almost to glance around to make sure + that there were no ravening capitalists hiding behind the trees. + </p> + <p> + “So you are a Socialist,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered. “I'm one of those dangerous persons.” + </p> + <p> + First and last I have read much of Socialism, and thought about it, too, + from the quiet angle of my farm among the hills, but this was the first + time I had ever had a live Socialist on my arm. I could not have been more + surprised if the stranger had said, “Yes, I am Theodore Roosevelt.” + </p> + <p> + One of the discoveries we keep making all our life long (provided we + remain humble) is the humorous discovery of the ordinariness of the + extraordinary. Here was this disrupter of society, this man of the red + flag—here he was with his mild spectacled eyes and his furry ears + wagging as he walked. It was unbelievable!—and the sun shining on + him quite as impartially as it shone on me. + </p> + <p> + Coming at last to a pleasant bit of woodland, where a stream ran under the + roadway, I said: + </p> + <p> + “Stranger, let's sit down and have a bite of luncheon.” + </p> + <p> + He began to expostulate, said he was expected in Kilburn. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I've plenty for two,” I said, “and I can say, at least, that I am a + firm believer in cooperation.” + </p> + <p> + Without more urging he followed me into the woods, where we sat down + comfortably under a tree. + </p> + <p> + Now, when I take a fine thick sandwich out of my bag, I always feel like + making it a polite bow, and before I bite into a big brown doughnut, I am + tempted to say, “By your leave, madam,” and as for MINCE PIE——-Beau + Brummel himself could not outdo me in respectful consideration. But Bill + Hahn neither saw, nor smelled, nor, I think, tasted Mrs. Ransome's + cookery. As soon as we sat down he began talking. From time to time he + would reach out for another sandwich or doughnut or pickle (without + knowing in the least which he was getting), and when that was gone some + reflex impulse caused him to reach out for some more. When the last crumb + of our lunch had disappeared Bill Hahn still reached out. His hand groped + absently about, and coming in contact with no more doughnuts or pickles he + withdrew it—and did not know, I think, that the meal was finished. + (Confidentially, I have speculated on what might have happened if the + supply had been unlimited!) + </p> + <p> + But that was Bill Hahn. Once started on his talk, he never thought of food + or clothing or shelter; but his eyes glowed, his face lighted up with a + strange effulgence, and he quite lost himself upon the tide of his own + oratory. I saw him afterward by a flare-light at the centre of a great + crowd of men and women—but that is getting ahead of my story. + </p> + <p> + His talk bristled with such words as “capitalism,” “proletariat,” + “class-consciousness”—and he spoke with fluency of “economic + determinism” and “syndicalism.” It was quite wonderful! And from time to + time, he would bring in a smashing quotation from Aristotle, Napoleon, + Karl Marx, or Eugene V. Debs, giving them all equal value, and he cited + statistics!—oh, marvellous statistics, that never were on sea or + land. + </p> + <p> + Once he was so swept away by his own eloquence that he sprang to his feet + and, raising one hand high above his head (quite unconscious that he was + holding up a dill pickle), he worked through one of his most thrilling + periods. + </p> + <p> + Yes, I laughed, and yet there was so brave a simplicity about this odd, + absurd little man that what I laughed at was only his outward appearance + (and that he himself had no care for), and all the time I felt a growing + respect and admiration for him. He was not only sincere, but he was + genuinely simple—a much higher virtue, as Fenelon says. For while + sincere people do not aim at appearing anything but what they are, they + are always in fear of passing for something they are not. They are forever + thinking about themselves, weighing all their words and thoughts and + dwelling upon what they have done, in the fear of having done too much or + too little, whereas simplicity, as Fenelon says, is an uprightness of soul + which has ceased wholly to dwell upon itself or its actions. Thus there + are plenty of sincere folk in the world but few who are simple. + </p> + <p> + Well, the longer he talked, the less interested I was in what he said and + the more fascinated I became in what he was. I felt a wistful interest in + him: and I wanted to know what way he took to purge himself of himself. I + think if I had been in that group nineteen hundred years ago, which + surrounded the beggar who was born blind, but whose anointed eyes now + looked out upon glories of the world, I should have been among the + questioners: + </p> + <p> + “What did he to thee? How opened he thine eyes?” + </p> + <p> + I tried ineffectually several times to break the swift current of his + oratory and finally succeeded (when he paused a moment to finish off a bit + of pie crust). + </p> + <p> + “You must have seen some hard experiences in your life,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “That I have,” responded Bill Hahn, “the capitalistic system—” + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever work in the mills yourself?” I interrupted hastily. + </p> + <p> + “Boy and man,” said Bill Hahn, “I worked in that hell for thirty-two years—The + class-conscious proletariat have only to exert themselves—” + </p> + <p> + “And your wife, did she work too—and your sons and daughters?” + </p> + <p> + A spasm of pain crossed his face. + </p> + <p> + “My daughter?” he said. “They killed her in the mills.” + </p> + <p> + It was appalling—the dead level of the tone in which he uttered + those words—the monotone of an emotion long ago burned out, and yet + leaving frightful scars. + </p> + <p> + “My friend!” I exclaimed, and I could not help laying my hand on his arm. + </p> + <p> + I had the feeling I often have with troubled children—an + indescribable pity that they have had to pass through the valley of the + shadow, and I not there to take them by the hand. + </p> + <p> + “And was this—your daughter—what brought you to your present + belief?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said he, “oh, no. I was a Socialist, as you might say, from youth + up. That is, I called myself a Socialist, but, comrade, I've learned this + here truth: that it ain't of so much importance that you possess a belief, + as that the belief possess you. Do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said I, “that I understand.” + </p> + <p> + Well, he told me his story, mostly in a curious, dull, detached way—as + though he were speaking of some third person in whom he felt only a + brotherly interest, but from time to time some incident or observation + would flame up out of the narrative, like the opening of the door of a + molten pit—so that the glare hurt one!—and then the story + would die back again into quiet narrative. + </p> + <p> + Like most working people he had never lived in the twentieth century at + all. He was still in the feudal age, and his whole life had been a blind + and ceaseless struggle for the bare necessaries of life, broken from time + to time by fierce irregular wars called strikes. He had never known + anything of a real self-governing commonwealth, and such progress as he + and his kind had made was never the result of their citizenship, of their + powers as voters, but grew out of the explosive and ragged upheavals, of + their own half-organized societies and unions. + </p> + <p> + It was against the “black people” he said, that he was first on strike + back in the early nineties. He told me all about it, how he had been + working in the mills pretty comfortably—he was young and strong + then; with a fine growing family and a small home of his own. + </p> + <p> + “It was as pretty a place as you would want to see,” he said; “we grew + cabbages and onions and turnips—everything grew fine!—in the + garden behind the house.” + </p> + <p> + And then the “black people” began to come in, little by little at first, + and then by the carload. By the “black people” he meant the people from + Southern Europe, he called them “hordes”—“hordes and hordes of 'em”—Italians + mostly, and they began getting into the mills and underbidding for the + jobs, so that wages slowly went down and at the same time the machines + were speeded up. It seems that many of these “black people” were single + men or vigorous young married people with only themselves to support, + while the old American workers were men with families and little homes to + pay for, and plenty of old grandfathers and mothers, to say nothing of + babies, depending upon them. + </p> + <p> + “There wasn't a living for a decent family left,” he said. + </p> + <p> + So they struck—and he told me in his dull monotone of the long + bitterness of that strike, the empty cupboards, the approach of winter + with no coal for the stoves and no warm clothing for the children. He told + me that many of the old workers began to leave the town (some bound for + the larger cities, some for the Far West). + </p> + <p> + “But,” said he with a sudden outburst of emotion, “I couldn't leave. I had + the woman and the children!” + </p> + <p> + And presently the strike collapsed, and the workers rushed helter skelter + back to the mills to get their old jobs. “Begging like whipped dogs,” he + said bitterly. + </p> + <p> + Many of them found their places taken by the eager “black people,” and + many had to go to work at lower wages in poorer places—punished for + the fight they had made. + </p> + <p> + But he got along somehow, he said—“the woman was a good manager”—until + one day he had the misfortune to get his hand caught in the machinery. It + was a place which should have been protected with guards, but was not. He + was laid up for several weeks, and the company, claiming that the accident + was due to his own stupidity and carelessness, refused even to pay his + wages while he was idle. Well, the family had to live somehow, and the + woman and the daughter—“she was a little thing,” he said, “and + frail”—the woman and the daughter went into the mill. But even with + this new source of income they began to fall behind. Money which should + have gone toward making the last payments on their home (already long + delayed by the strike) had now to go to the doctor and the grocer. + </p> + <p> + “We had to live,” said Bill Hahn. + </p> + <p> + Again and again he used this same phrase, “We had to live!” as a sort of + bedrock explanation for all the woes of life. + </p> + <p> + After a time, with one finger gone and a frightfully scarred hand—he + held it up for me to see—he went back into the mill. + </p> + <p> + “But it kept getting worse and worse,” said he, “and finally I couldn't + stand it any longer.” + </p> + <p> + He and a group of friends got together secretly and tried to organize a + union, tried to get the workmen together to improve their own condition; + but in some way (“they had spies everywhere,” he said) the manager learned + of the attempt and one morning when he reported at the mill he was handed + a slip asking him to call for his wages, that his help was no longer + required. + </p> + <p> + “I'd been with that one company for twenty years and four months,” he said + bitterly, “I'd helped in my small way to build it up, make it a big + concern payin' 28 per cent. dividends every year; I'd given part of my + right hand in doin' it—and they threw me out like an old shoe.” + </p> + <p> + He said he would have pulled up and gone away, but he still had the little + home and the garden, and his wife and daughter were still at work, so he + hung on grimly, trying to get some other job. “But what good is a man for + any other sort of work,” he said, “when he has been trained to the mills + for thirty-two years!” + </p> + <p> + It was not very long after that when the “great strike” began—indeed, + it grew out of the organization which he had tried to launched—and + Bill Hahn threw himself into it with all his strength. He was one of the + leaders. I shall not attempt to repeat here his description of the bitter + struggle, the coming of the soldiery, the street riots, the long lists of + arrests (“some,” said he, “got into jail on purpose, so that they could at + least have enough to eat!”), the late meetings of strikers, the wild + turmoil and excitement. + </p> + <p> + Of all this he told me, and then he stopped suddenly, and after a long + pause he said in a low voice: + </p> + <p> + “Comrade, did ye ever see your wife and your sickly daughter and your kids + sufferin' for bread to eat?” + </p> + <p> + He paused again with a hard, dry sob in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Did ye ever see that?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I, very humbly, “I have never seen anything like that.” + </p> + <p> + He turned on me suddenly, and I shall never forget the look on his face, + nor the blaze in his eyes: + </p> + <p> + “Then what can you know about working-men?” + </p> + <p> + What could I answer? + </p> + <p> + A moment passed and then he said, as if a little remorseful at having + turned thus on me: + </p> + <p> + “Comrade, I tell you, the iron entered my soul—them days.” + </p> + <p> + It seems that the leaders of the strike were mostly old employees like + Bill Hahn, and the company had conceived the idea that if these men could + be eliminated the organization would collapse, and the strikers be forced + back to work. One day Bill Hahn found that proceedings had been started to + turn him out of his home, upon which he had not been able to keep up his + payments, and at the same time the merchant, of whom he had been a + respected customer for years, refused to give him any further credit. + </p> + <p> + “But we lived somehow,” he said, “we lived and we fought.” + </p> + <p> + It was then that he began to see clearly what it all meant. He said he + made a great discovery: that the “black people” against whom they had + struck in 1894 were not to blame! + </p> + <p> + “I tell you,” said he, “we found when we got started that them black + people—we used to call 'em dagoes—were just workin' people + like us—and in hell with us. They were good soldiers, them + Eyetalians and Poles and Syrians, they fought with us to the end.” + </p> + <p> + I shall not soon forget the intensely dramatic but perfectly simple way in + which he told me how he came, as he said, “to see the true light.” Holding + up his maimed right hand (that trembled a little), he pointed one finger + upward. + </p> + <p> + “I seen the big hand in the sky,” he said, “I seen it as clear as + daylight.” + </p> + <p> + He said he saw at last what Socialism meant. One day he went home from a + strikers' meeting—one of the last, for the men were worn out with + their long struggle. It was a bitter cold day, and he was completely + discouraged. When he reached his own street he saw a pile of household + goods on the sidewalk in front of his home. He saw his wife there wringing + her hands and crying. He said he could not take a step further, but sat + down on a neighbour's porch and looked and looked. “It was curious,” he + said, “but the only thing I could see or think about was our old family + clock which they had stuck on top of the pile, half tipped over. It looked + odd and I wanted to set it up straight. It was the clock we bought when we + were married, and we'd had it about twenty years on the mantel in the + livin'-room. It was a good clock,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He paused and then smiled a little. + </p> + <p> + “I never have figured it out why I should have been able to think of + nothing but that clock,” he said, “but so it was.” + </p> + <p> + When he got home, he found his frail daughter just coming out of the empty + house, “coughing as though she was dyin'.” Something, he said, seemed to + stop inside him. Those were his words: “Something seemed to stop inside 'o + me.” + </p> + <p> + He turned away without saying a word, walked back to strike headquarters, + borrowed a revolver from a friend, and started out along the main road + which led into the better part of the town. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever hear o' Robert Winter?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Robert Winter was the biggest gun of 'em all. He owned the mills + there and the largest store and the newspaper—he pretty nearly owned + the town.” + </p> + <p> + He told me much more about Robert Winter which betrayed still a curious + sort of feudal admiration for him, and for his great place and power; but + I need not dwell on it here. He told me how he climbed through a hemlock + hedge (for the stone gateway was guarded) and walked through the snow + toward the great house. + </p> + <p> + “An' all the time I seemed to be seein' my daughter Margy right there + before my eyes coughing as though she was dyin'.” + </p> + <p> + It was just nightfall and all the windows were alight. He crept up to a + clump of bushes under a window and waited there a moment while he drew out + and cocked his revolver. Then he slowly reached upward until his head + cleared the sill and he could look into the room. “A big, warm room,” he + described it. + </p> + <p> + “Comrade,” said he, “I had murder in my heart that night.” + </p> + <p> + So he stood there looking in with the revolver ready cocked in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “And what do you think I seen there?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot guess,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Bill Hahn, “I seen the great Robert Winter that we had been + fighting for five long months—and he was down on his hands and knees + on the carpet—he had his little daughter on his back—and he + was creepin' about with her—an' she was laughin'.” + </p> + <p> + Bill Hahn paused. + </p> + <p> + “I had a bead on him,” he said, “but I couldn't do it—I just + couldn't do it.” + </p> + <p> + He came away all weak and trembling and cold, and, “Comrade,” he said, “I + was cryin' like a baby, and didn't know why.” + </p> + <p> + The next day the strike collapsed and there was the familiar stampede for + work—but Bill Hahn did not go back. He knew it would be useless. A + week later his frail daughter died and was buried in the paupers field. + </p> + <p> + “She was as truly killed,” he said, “as though some one had fired a bullet + at her through a window.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did you do after that?” I asked, when he had paused for a long + time with his chin on his breast. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he, “I did a lot of thinking them days, and I says to myself: + 'This thing is wrong, and I will go out and stop it—I will go out + and stop it.'” + </p> + <p> + As he uttered these words, I looked at him curiously—his absurd flat + fur hat with the moth-eaten ears, the old bulging overcoat, the round + spectacles, the scarred, insignificant face—he seemed somehow + transformed, a person elevated above himself, the tool of some vast + incalculable force. + </p> + <p> + I shall never forget the phrase he used to describe his own feelings when + he had reached this astonishing decision to go out and stop the wrongs of + the World. He said he “began to feel all clean inside.” + </p> + <p> + “I see it didn't matter what become o' me, and I began to feel all clean + inside.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed, he explained, as though something big and strong had got hold + of him, and he began to be happy. + </p> + <p> + “Since then,” he said in a low voice, “I've been happier than I ever was + before in all my life. I ain't got any family, nor any home—rightly + speakin'—nor any money, but, comrade, you see here in front of you, + a happy man.” + </p> + <p> + When he had finished his story we sat quiet for some time. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he, finally, “I must be goin'. The committee will wonder + what's become o' me.” + </p> + <p> + I followed him out to the road. There I put my hand on his shoulder, and + said: + </p> + <p> + “Bill Hahn, you are a better man than I am.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled, a beautiful smile, and we walked off together down the road. + </p> + <p> + I wish I had gone on with him at that time into the city, but somehow I + could not do it. I stopped near the top of the hill where one can see in + the distance that smoky huddle of buildings which is known as Kilburn, and + though he urged me, I turned aside and sat down in the edge of a meadow. + There were many things I wanted to think about, to get clear in my mind. + </p> + <p> + As I sat looking out toward that great city, I saw three men walking in + the white road. As I watched them, I could see them coming quickly, + eagerly. Presently they threw up their hands and evidently began to shout, + though I could not hear what they said. At that moment I saw my friend + Bill Hahn running in the road, his coat skirts flapping heavily about his + legs. When they met they almost fell into another's arms. + </p> + <p> + I suppose it was so that the early Christians, those who hid in the Roman + catacombs, were wont to greet one another. + </p> + <p> + So I sat thinking. + </p> + <p> + “A man,” I said to myself, “who can regard himself as a function, not an + end of creation, has arrived.” + </p> + <p> + After a time I got up and walked down the hill—some strange force + carrying me onward—and came thus to the city of Kilburn. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. I AM CAUGHT UP INTO LIFE + </h2> + <p> + I can scarcely convey in written words the whirling emotions I felt when I + entered the city of Kilburn. Every sight, every sound, recalled vividly + and painfully the unhappy years I had once spent in another and greater + city. Every mingled odour of the streets—and there is nothing that + will so surely re-create (for me) the inner emotion of a time or place as + a remembered odour—brought back to me the incidents of that + immemorial existence. + </p> + <p> + For a time, I confess it frankly here, I felt afraid. More than once I + stopped short in the street where I was walking, and considered turning + about and making again for the open country. Some there may be who will + feel that I am exaggerating my sensations and impressions, but they do not + know of my memories of a former life, nor of how, many years ago, I left + the city quite defeated, glad indeed that I was escaping, and thinking (as + I have related elsewhere) that I should never again set foot upon a paved + street. These things went deep with me. Only the other day, when a friend + asked me how old I was, I responded instantly—our unpremeditated + words are usually truest—with the date of my arrival at this farm. + </p> + <p> + “Then you are only ten years old!” he exclaimed with a laugh, thinking I + was joking. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, “I am counting only the years worth living.” + </p> + <p> + No; I existed, but I never really lived until I was reborn, that wonderful + summer here among these hills. + </p> + <p> + I said I felt afraid in the streets of Kilburn, but it was no physical + fear. Who could be safer in a city than the man who has not a penny in his + pockets? It was rather a strange, deep, spiritual shrinking. There seemed + something so irresistible about this life of the city, so utterly + overpowering. I had a sense of being smaller than I had previously felt + myself, that in some way my personality, all that was strong or + interesting or original about me, was being smudged over, rubbed out. In + the country I had in some measure come to command life, but here, it + seemed to me, life was commanding me and crushing me down. It is a + difficult thing to describe: I never felt just that way before. + </p> + <p> + I stopped at last on the main street of Kilburn in the very heart of the + town. I stopped because it seemed necessary to me, like a man in a flood, + to touch bottom, to get hold upon something immovable and stable. It was + just at that hour of evening when the stores and shops are pouring forth + their rivulets of humanity to join the vast flood of the streets. I + stepped quickly aside into a niche near the corner of an immense building + of brick and steel and glass, and there I stood with my back to the wall, + and I watched the restless, whirling, torrential tide of the streets. I + felt again, as I had not felt it before in years, the mysterious urge of + the city—the sense of unending, overpowering movement. + </p> + <p> + There was another strange, indeed uncanny, sensation that began to creep + over me as I stood there. Though hundreds upon hundreds of men and women + were passing me every minute, not one of them seemed to see me. Most of + them did not even look in my direction, and those who did turn their eyes + toward me see me to glance through me to the building behind. I wonder if + this is at all a common experience, or whether I was unduly sensitive that + day, unduly wrought up? I began to feel like one clad in garments of + invisibility. I could see, but was not seen. I could feel, but was not + felt. In the country there are few who would not stop to speak to me, or + at least appraise me with their eyes; but here I was a wraith, a ghost—not + a palpable human being at all. For a moment I felt unutterably lonely. + </p> + <p> + It is this way with me. When I have reached the very depths of any serious + situation or tragic emotion, something within me seems at last to stop—how + shall I describe it?—and I rebound suddenly and see the world, as it + were, double—see that my condition instead of being serious or + tragic is in reality amusing—and I usually came out of it with an + utterly absurd or whimsical idea. It was so upon this occasion. I think it + was the image of my robust self as a wraith that did it. + </p> + <p> + “After all,” I said aloud taking a firm hold on the good hard flesh of one + of my legs, “this is positively David Grayson.” + </p> + <p> + I looked out again into that tide of faces—interesting, tired, + passive, smiling, sad, but above all, preoccupied faces. + </p> + <p> + “No one,” I thought, “seems to know that David Grayson has come to town.” + </p> + <p> + I had the sudden, almost irresistible notion of climbing up a step near + me, holding up one hand, and crying out: + </p> + <p> + “Here I am, my friends. I am David Grayson. I am real and solid and + opaque; I have plenty of red blood running in my veins. I assure you that + I am a person well worth knowing.” + </p> + <p> + I should really have enjoyed some such outlandish enterprise, and I am not + at all sure yet that it would not have brought me adventures and made me + friends worth while. We fail far more often by under-daring than by + over-daring. + </p> + <p> + But this imaginary object had the result, at least, of giving me a new + grip on things. I began to look out upon the amazing spectacle before me + in a different mood. It was exactly like some enormous anthill into which + an idle traveller had thrust his cane. Everywhere the ants were running + out of their tunnels and burrows, many carrying burdens and giving one + strangely the impression that while they were intensely alive and active, + not more than half of them had any clear idea of where they were going. + And serious, deadly serious, in their haste! I felt a strong inclination + to stop a few of them and say: + </p> + <p> + “Friends, cheer up. It isn't half as bad as you think it is. Cheer up!” + </p> + <p> + After a time the severity of the human flood began to abate, and here and + there at the bottom of that gulch of a street, which had begun to fill + with soft, bluish-gray shadows, the evening lights a appeared. The air had + grown cooler; in the distance around a corner I heard a street organ break + suddenly and joyously into the lively strains of “The Wearin' o' the + Green.” + </p> + <p> + I stepped out into the street with quite a new feeling of adventure. And + as if to testify that I was now a visible person a sharp-eyed newsboy + discovered me—the first human being in Kilburn who had actually seen + me—and came up with a paper in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Herald, boss?” + </p> + <p> + I was interested in the shrewd, world-wise, humorous look in the urchin's + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I began, with the full intent of bantering him into some sort of + acquaintance; but he evidently measured my purchasing capacity quite + accurately, for he turned like a flash to another customer. “Herald, + boss?” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to step lively, David Grayson,” I said to myself, “if you get + aboard in this city.” + </p> + <p> + A slouchy negro with a cigarette in his fingers glanced at me in passing + and then, hesitating, turned quickly toward me. + </p> + <p> + “Got a match, boss?” + </p> + <p> + I gave him a match. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, boss,” and he passed on down the street. + </p> + <p> + “I seem to be 'boss' around here,” I said. + </p> + <p> + This contact, slight as it was, gave me a feeling of warmth, removed a + little the sensation of aloofness I had felt, and I strolled slowly down + the street, looking in at the gay windows, now ablaze with lights, and + watching the really wonderful procession of vehicles of all shapes and + sizes that rattled by on the pavement. Even at that hour of the day I + think there were more of them in one minute than I see in a whole month at + my farm. + </p> + <p> + It's a great thing to wear shabby clothes and an old hat. Some of the best + things I have ever known, like these experiences of the streets, have + resulted from coming up to life from underneath; of being taken for less + than I am rather than for more than I am. + </p> + <p> + I did not always believe in this doctrine. For many years—the years + before I was rightly born into this alluring world—I tried quite the + opposite course. I was constantly attempting to come down to life from + above. Instead of being content to carry through life a sufficiently + wonderful being named David Grayson I tried desperately to set up and + support a sort of dummy creature which, so clad, so housed, so fed, should + appear to be what I thought David Grayson ought to appear in the eyes of + the world. Oh, I spent quite a lifetime trying to satisfy other people! + </p> + <p> + Once I remember staying at home, in bed, reading “Huckleberry Finn,” while + I sent my trousers out to be mended. + </p> + <p> + Well, that dummy Grayson perished in a cornfield. His empty coat served + well for a scarecrow. A wisp of straw stuck out through a hole in his + finest hat. + </p> + <p> + And I—the man within—I escaped, and have been out freely upon + the great adventure of life. + </p> + <p> + If a shabby coat (and I speak here also symbolically, not forgetful of + spiritual significances) lets you into the adventurous world of those who + are poor it does not on the other hand rob you of any true friendship + among those who are rich or mighty. I say true friendship, for unless a + man who is rich and mighty is able to see through my shabby coat (as I see + through his fine one), I shall gain nothing by knowing him. + </p> + <p> + I've permitted myself all this digression—left myself walking alone + there in the streets of Kilburn while I philosophized upon the ways and + means of life—not without design, for I could have had no such + experiences as I did have in Kilburn if I had worn a better coat or + carried upon me the evidences of security in life. + </p> + <p> + I think I have already remarked upon the extraordinary enlivenment of wits + which comes to the man who has been without a meal or so and does not know + when or where he is again to break his fast. Try it, friend and see! It + was already getting along in the evening, and I knew or supposed I knew no + one in Kilburn save only Bill Hahn, Socialist who was little better off + than I was. + </p> + <p> + In this emergency my mind began to work swiftly. A score of fascinating + plans for getting my supper and a bed to sleep in flashed through my mind. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said I, “when I come to think of it, I'm comparatively rich. I'll + warrant there are plenty of places in Kilburn, and good ones, too, where I + could barter a chapter of Montaigne and a little good conversation for a + first-rate supper, and I've no doubt that I could whistle up a bed almost + anywhere!” + </p> + <p> + I thought of a little motto I often repeat to myself: + </p> + <p> + TO KNOW LIFE, BEGIN ANYWHERE! + </p> + <p> + There were several people on the streets of Kilburn that night who don't + know yet how very near they were to being boarded by a somewhat shabby + looking farmer who would have offered them, let us say, a notable musical + production called “Old Dan Tucker,” exquisitely performed on a tin + whistle, in exchange for a good honest supper. + </p> + <p> + There was one man in particular—a fine, pompous citizen who came + down the street swinging his cane and looking as though the universe was a + sort of Christmas turkey, lying all brown and sizzling before him ready to + be carved—a fine pompous citizen who never realized how nearly Fate + with a battered volume of Montaigne in one hand and a tin whistle in the + other—came to pouncing upon him that evening! And I am firmly + convinced that if I had attacked him with the Great Particular Word he + would have carved me off a juicy slice of the white breast meat. + </p> + <p> + “I'm getting hungry,” I said; “I must find Bill Hahn!” + </p> + <p> + I had turned down a side street, and seeing there in front of a building a + number of lounging men with two or three cabs or carriages standing nearby + in the street I walked up to them. It was a livery barn. + </p> + <p> + Now I like all sorts of out-of-door people: I seem to be related to them + through horses and cattle and cold winds and sunshine. I like them and + understand them, and they seem to like me and understand me. So I walked + up to the group of jolly drivers and stablemen intending to ask my + directions. The talking died out and they all turned to look at me. I + suppose I was not altogether a familiar type there in the city streets. My + bag, especially, seemed to set me apart as a curious person. + </p> + <p> + “Friends,” I said, “I am a farmer—” + </p> + <p> + They all broke out laughing; they seemed to know it already! I was just a + little taken aback, but I laughed, too, knowing that there was a way of + getting at them if only I could find it. + </p> + <p> + “It may surprise you,” I said, “but this is the first time in some dozen + years that I've been in a big city like this.” + </p> + <p> + “You hadn't 'ave told us, partner!” said one of them, evidently the wit of + the group, in a rich Irish brogue. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I responded, laughing with the best of them, “you've been living + right here all the time, and don't realize how amusing and curious the + city looks to me. Why, I feel as though I had been away sleeping for + twenty years, like Rip Van Winkle. When I left the city there was scarcely + an automobile to be seen anywhere—and now look at them snorting + through the streets. I counted twenty-two passing that corner up there in + five minutes by the clock.” + </p> + <p> + This was a fortunate remark, for I found instantly that the invasion of + the automobile was a matter of tremendous import to such Knights of + Bucephalus as these. + </p> + <p> + At first the wit interrupted me with amusing remarks, as wits will, but I + soon had him as quiet as the others. For I have found the things that + chiefly interest people are the things they already know about—provided + you show them that these common things are still mysterious, still + miraculous, as indeed they are. + </p> + <p> + After a time some one pushed me a stable stool and I sat down among them, + and we had quite a conversation, which finally developed into an amusing + comparison (I wish I had room to repeat it here) between the city and the + country. I told them something about my farm, how much I enjoyed it, and + what a wonderful free life one had in the country. In this I was really + taking an unfair advantage of them, for I was trading on the fact that + every man, down deep in his heart, has more or less of an instinct to get + back to the soil—at least all outdoor men have. And when I described + the simplest things about my barn, and the cattle and pigs, and the bees—and + the good things we have to eat—I had every one of them leaning + forward and hanging on my words. + </p> + <p> + Harriet sometimes laughs at me for the way I celebrate farm life. She says + all my apples are the size of Hubbard squashes, my eggs all double-yolked, + and my cornfields tropical jungles. Practical Harriet! My apples may not + ALL be the size of Hubbard squashes, but they are good, sizable apples, + and as for flavour—all the spices of Arcady—! And I believe, I + KNOW, from my own experience that these fields and hills are capable of + healing men's souls. And when I see people wandering around a lonesome + city like Kilburn, with never a soft bit of soil to put their heels into, + nor a green thing to cultivate, nor any corn or apples or honey to + harvest, I feel—well, that they are wasting their time. + </p> + <p> + (It's a fact, Harriet!) + </p> + <p> + Indeed I had the most curious experience with my friend the wit—his + name I soon learned was Healy—a jolly, round, red-nosed, outdoor + chap with fists that looked like small-sized hams, and a rich, warm Irish + voice. At first he was inclined to use me as the ready butt of his lively + mind, but presently he became so much interested in what I was saying that + he sat squarely in front of me with both his jolly eyes and his smiling + mouth wide open. + </p> + <p> + “If ever you pass my way,” I said to him, “just drop in and I'll give you + a dinner of baked beans”—and I smacked—“and home made bread” + and I smacked again—“and pumpkin pie”—and I smacked a third + time—“that will make your mouth water.” + </p> + <p> + All this smacking and the description of baked beans and pumpkin pie had + an odd counter effect upon ME; for I suddenly recalled my own tragic + state. So I jumped up quickly and asked directions for getting down to the + mill neighbourhood, where I hoped to find Bill Hahn. My friend Healy + instantly volunteered the information. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” I said, “I want to ask a small favour of you. I'm looking for a + friend, and I'd like to leave my bag here for the night.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure, sure,” said the Irishman heartily. “Put it there in the office—on + top o' the desk. It'll be all right.” + </p> + <p> + So I put it in the office and was about to say good-bye, when my friend + said to me: + </p> + <p> + “Come in, partner, and have a drink before you go”—and he pointed to + a nearby saloon. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” I answered heartily, for I knew it was as fine a bit of + hospitality as he could offer me, “thank you, but I must find my friend + before it gets too late.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, come on now,” he cried, taking my arm. “Sure you'll be better off for + a bit o' warmth inside.” + </p> + <p> + I had hard work to get away from them, and I am as sure as can be that + they would have found supper and a bed for me if they had known I needed + either. + </p> + <p> + “Come agin,” Healy shouted after me, “we're glad to see a farmer any + toime.” + </p> + <p> + My way led me quickly out of the well-groomed and glittering main streets + of the town. I passed first through several blocks of quiet residences, + and then came to a street near the river which was garishly lighted, and + crowded with small, poor shops and stores, with a saloon on nearly every + corner. I passed a huge, dark, silent box of a mill, and I saw what I + never saw before in a city, armed men guarding the streets. + </p> + <p> + Although it was growing late—it was after nine o'clock—crowds + of people were still parading the streets, and there was something + intangibly restless, something tense, in the very atmosphere of the + neighbourhood. It was very plain that I had reached the strike district. I + was about to make some further inquiries for the headquarters of the mill + men or for Bill Hahn personally, when I saw, not far ahead of me, a black + crowd of people reaching out into the street. Drawing nearer I saw that an + open space or block between two rows of houses was literally black with + human beings, and in the centre on a raised platform, under a gasolene + flare, I beheld my friend of the road, Bill Hahn. The overcoat and the hat + with the furry ears had disappeared, and the little man stood there + bare-headed, before that great audience. + </p> + <p> + My experience in the world is limited, but I have never heard anything + like that speech for sheer power. It was as unruly and powerful and + resistless as life itself. It was not like any other speech I ever heard, + for it was no mere giving out by the orator of ideas and thoughts and + feelings of his own. It seemed rather—how shall I describe it?—as + though the speaker was looking into the very hearts of that vast gathering + of poor men and poor women and merely telling them what they themselves + felt, but could not tell. And I shall never forget the breathless hush of + the people or the quality of their responses to the orator's words. It was + as though they said, “Yes, yes” with a feeling of vast relief—“Yes, + yes—at last our own hopes and fears and desires are being uttered—yes, + yes.” + </p> + <p> + As for the orator himself, he held up one maimed hand and leaned over the + edge of the platform, and his undistinguished face glowed with the white + light of a great passion within. The man had utterly forgotten himself. + </p> + <p> + I confess, among those eager working people, clad in their poor garments, + I confess I was profoundly moved. Faith is not so bounteous a commodity in + this world that we can afford to treat even its unfamiliar manifestations + with contempt. And when a movement is hot with life, when it stirs common + men to their depths, look out! look out! + </p> + <p> + Up to that time I had never known much of the practical workings of + Socialism; and the main contention of its philosophy has never accorded + wholly with my experience in life. + </p> + <p> + But the Socialism of to-day is no mere abstraction—as it was, + perhaps, in the days of Brook Farm. It is a mode of action. Men whose view + of life is perfectly balanced rarely soil themselves with the dust of + battle. The heat necessary to produce social conflict (and social progress—who + knows?) is generated by a supreme faith that certain principles are + universal in their application when in reality they are only local or + temporary. + </p> + <p> + Thus while one may not accept the philosophy of Socialism as a final + explanation of human life, he may yet look upon Socialism in action as a + powerful method of stimulating human progress. The world has been lagging + behind in its sense of brotherhood, and we now have the Socialists knit + together in a fighting friendship as fierce and narrow in its motives as + Calvinism, pricking us to reform, asking the cogent question: + </p> + <p> + “Are we not all brothers?” + </p> + <p> + Oh, we are going a long way with these Socialists, we are going to + discover a new world of social relationships—and then, and then, + like a mighty wave; will flow in upon us a renewed and more wonderful + sense of the worth of the individual human soul. A new individualism, + bringing with it, perhaps, some faint realization of our dreams of a race + of Supermen, lies just beyond! Its prophets, girded with rude garments and + feeding upon the wild honey of poverty, are already crying in the + wilderness. + </p> + <p> + I think I could have remained there at the Socialist meeting all night + long: there was something about it that brought a hard, dry twist to my + throat. But after a time my friend Bill Hahn, evidently quite worn out, + yielded his place to another and far less clairvoyant speaker, and the + crowd, among whom I now discovered quite a number of policemen, began to + thin out. + </p> + <p> + I made my way forward and saw Bill Hahn and several other men just leaving + the platform. I stepped up to him, but it was not until I called him by + name (I knew how absent minded he was!) that he recognized me. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” he said; “you came after all!” + </p> + <p> + He seized me by both arms and introduced me to several of his companions + as “Brother Grayson.” They all shook hands with me warmly. + </p> + <p> + Although he was perspiring, Bill put on his overcoat and the old fur hat + with the ears, and as he now took my arm I could feel one of his bulging + pockets beating against my leg. I had not the slightest idea where they + were going, but Bill held me by the arm and presently we came, a block or + so distant, to a dark, narrow stairway leading up from the street. I + recall the stumbling sound of steps on the wooden boards, a laugh or two, + the high voice of a woman asserting and denying. Feeling our way along the + wall, we came to the top and went into a long, low, rather dimly lighted + room set about with tables and chairs—a sort of restaurant. A number + of men and a few women had already gathered there. Among them my eyes + instantly singled out a huge, rough-looking man who stood at the centre of + an animated group. He had thick, shaggy hair, and one side of his face + over the cheekbone was of a dull blue-black and raked and scarred, where + it had been burned in a Powder blast. He had been a miner. His gray eyes, + which had a surprisingly youthful and even humorous expression, looked out + from under coarse, thick, gray brows. A very remarkable face and figure he + presented. I soon learned that he was R—— D——, the + leader of whom I had often heard, and heard no good thing. He was quite a + different type from Bill Hahn: he was the man of authority, the organizer, + the diplomat—as Bill was the prophet, preaching a holy war. + </p> + <p> + How wonderful human nature is! Only a short time before I had been + thrilled by the intensity of the passion of the throng, but here the mood + suddenly changed to one of friendly gayety. Fully a third of those present + were women, some of them plainly from the mills and some of them curiously + different—women from other walks in life who had thrown themselves + heart and soul into the strike. Without ceremony but with much laughing + and joking, they found their places around the tables. A cook, who + appeared in a dim doorway was greeted with a shout, to which he responded + with a wide smile, waving the long spoon which he held in his hand. + </p> + <p> + I shall not attempt to give any complete description of the gathering or + of what they said or did. I think I could devote a dozen pages to the + single man who was placed next to me. I was interested in him from the + outset. The first thing that struck me about him was an air of neatness, + even fastidiousness, about his person—though he wore no stiff + collar, only a soft woollen shirt without a necktie. He had the long + sensitive, beautiful hands of an artist, but his face was thin and marked + with the pallor peculiar to the indoor worker. I soon learned that he was + a weaver in the mills, an Englishman by birth, and we had not talked two + minutes before I found that, while he had never had any education in the + schools, he had been a gluttonous reader of books—all kind of books—and, + what is more, had thought about them and was ready with vigorous (and + narrow) opinions about this author or that. And he knew more about + economics and sociology, I firmly believe, than half the college + professors. A truly remarkable man. + </p> + <p> + It was an Italian restaurant, and I remember how, in my hunger, I assailed + the generous dishes of boiled meat and spaghetti. A red wine was served in + large bottles which circulated rapidly around the table, and almost + immediately the room began to fill with tobacco smoke. Every one seemed to + be talking and laughing at once, in the liveliest spirit of good + fellowship. They joked from table to table, and sometimes the whole room + would quiet down while some one told a joke, which invariably wound up + with a roar of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” I said, “these people have a whole life, a whole society, of their + own!” + </p> + <p> + In the midst of this jollity the clear voice of a girl rang out with the + first lines of a song. Instantly the room was hushed: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Arise, ye prisoners of starvation, + Arise, ye wretched of the earth, + For justice thunders condemnation + A better world's in birth. +</pre> + <p> + These were the words she sang, and when the clear, sweet voice died down + the whole company, as though by a common impulse, arose from their chairs, + and joined in a great swelling chorus: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It is the final conflict, + Let each stand in his place, + The Brotherhood of Man + Shall be the human race. +</pre> + <p> + It was beyond belief, to me, the spirit with which these words were sung. + In no sense with jollity—all that seemed to have been dropped when + they came to their feet—but with an unmistakable fervour of faith. + Some of the things I had thought and dreamed about secretly among the + hills of my farm all these years, dreamed about as being something far off + and as unrealizable as the millennium, were here being sung abroad with + jaunty faith by these weavers of Kilburn, these weavers and workers whom I + had schooled myself to regard with a sort of distant pity. + </p> + <p> + Hardly had the company sat down again, with a renewal of the flow of jolly + conversation When I heard a rapping on one of the tables. I saw the great + form of R——- D——- slowly rising. + </p> + <p> + “Brothers and sisters,” he said, “a word of caution. The authorities will + lose no chance of putting us in the wrong. Above all we must comport + ourselves here and in the strike with great care. We are fighting a great + battle, bigger than we are—” + </p> + <p> + At this instant the door from the dark hallway suddenly opened and a man + in a policeman's uniform stepped in. There fell an instant's dead silence—an + explosive silence. Every person there seemed to be petrified in the + position in which his attention was attracted. Every eye was fixed on the + figure at the door. For an instant no one said a word; then I heard a + woman's shrill voice, like a rifle-shot: + </p> + <p> + “Assassin!” + </p> + <p> + I cannot imagine what might have happened next, for the feeling in the + room, as in the city itself, was at the tensest, had not the leader + suddenly brought the goblet which he held in his hand down with a bang + upon the table. + </p> + <p> + “As I was saying,” he continued in a steady, clear voice, “we are fighting + to-day the greatest of battles, and we cannot permit trivial incidents, or + personal bitterness, or small persecutions, to turn us from the great work + we have in hand. However our opponents may comport themselves, we must be + calm, steady, sure, patient, for we know that our cause is just and will + prevail.” + </p> + <p> + “You're right,” shouted a voice back in the room. + </p> + <p> + Instantly the tension relaxed, conversation started again and every one + turned away from the policeman at the door. In a few minutes, he + disappeared without having said a word. + </p> + <p> + There was no regular speaking, and about midnight the party began to break + up. I leaned over and said to my friend Bill Hahn: + </p> + <p> + “Can you find me a place to sleep tonight?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I can,” he said heartily. + </p> + <p> + There was to be a brief conference of the leaders after the supper, and + those present soon departed. I went down the long, dark stairway and out + into the almost deserted street. Looking up between the buildings I could + see the clear blue sky and the stars. And I walked slowly up and down + awaiting my friend and trying, vainly to calm my whirling emotions. + </p> + <p> + He came at last and I went with him. That night I slept scarcely at all, + but lay looking up into the darkness. And it seemed as though, as I lay + there, listening, that I could hear the city moving in its restless sleep + and sighing as with heavy pain. All night long I lay there thinking. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. I COME TO GRAPPLE WITH THE CITY + </h2> + <p> + I have laughed heartily many times since I came home to think of the + Figure of Tragedy I felt myself that morning in the city of Kilburn. I had + not slept well, had not slept at all, I think, and the experiences and + emotions of the previous night still lay heavy upon me. Not before in many + years had I felt such a depression of the spirits. + </p> + <p> + It was all so different from the things I love! Not so much as a spear of + grass or a leafy tree to comfort the eye, or a bird to sing; no quiet + hills, no sight of the sun coming up in the morning over dewy fields, no + sound of cattle in the lane, no cheerful cackling of fowls, nor buzzing of + bees! That morning, I remember, when I first went out into those squalid + streets and saw everywhere the evidences of poverty, dirt, and ignorance—and + the sweet, clean country not two miles away—the thought of my own + home among the hills (with Harriet there in the doorway) came upon me with + incredible longing. + </p> + <p> + “I must go home; I must go home!” I caught myself saying aloud. + </p> + <p> + I remember how glad I was when I found that my friend Bill Hahn and other + leaders of the strike were to be engaged in conferences during the + forenoon, for I wanted to be alone, to try to get a few things + straightened out in my mind. + </p> + <p> + But I soon found that a city is a poor place for reflection or + contemplation. It bombards one with an infinite variety of new impressions + and new adventures; and I could not escape the impression made by crowded + houses, and ill-smelling streets, and dirty sidewalks, and swarming human + beings. For a time the burden of these things rested upon my breast like a + leaden weight; they all seemed so utterly wrong to me, so unnecessary; so + unjust! I sometimes think of religion as only a high sense of good order; + and it seemed to me that morning as though the very existence of this + disorderly mill district was a challenge to religion, and an offence to + the Orderer of an Orderly Universe. I don't now how such conditions may + affect other people, but for a time I felt a sharp sense of impatience—yes, + anger—with it all. I had an impulse to take off my coat then and + there and go at the job of setting things to rights. Oh, I never was more + serious in my life: I was quite prepared to change the entire scheme of + things to my way of thinking whether the people who lived there liked it + or not. It seemed to me for a few glorious moments that I had only to tell + them of the wonders in our country, the pleasant, quiet roads, the + comfortable farmhouses, the fertile fields, and the wooded hills—and, + poof! all this crowded poverty would dissolve and disappear, and they + would all come to the country and be as happy as I was. + </p> + <p> + I remember how, once in my life, I wasted untold energy trying to make + over my dearest friends. There was Harriet, for example, dear, serious, + practical Harriet. I used to be fretted by the way she was forever trying + to clip my wing feathers—I suppose to keep me close to the quiet and + friendly and unadventurous roost! We come by such a long, long road, + sometimes, to the acceptance of our nearest friends for exactly what they + are. Because we are so fond of them we try to make them over to suit some + curious ideal of perfection of our own—until one day we suddenly + laugh aloud at our own absurdity (knowing that they are probably trying as + hard to reconstruct us as we are to reconstruct them) and thereafter we + try no more to change them, we just love 'em and enjoy 'em! + </p> + <p> + Some such psychological process went on in my consciousness that morning. + As I walked briskly through the streets I began to look out more broadly + around me. It was really a perfect spring morning, the air crisp, fresh, + and sunny, and the streets full of life and activity. I looked into the + faces of the people I met, and it began to strike me that most of them + seemed oblivious of the fact that they should, by good rights, be looking + downcast and dispirited. They had cheered their approval the night before + when the speakers had told them how miserable they were (even + acknowledging that they were slaves), and yet here they were this morning + looking positively good-humoured, cheerful, some of them even gay. I + warrant if I had stepped up to one of them that morning and intimated that + he was a slave he would have—well, I should have had serious trouble + with him! There was a degree of sociability in those back streets, a + visiting from window to window, gossipy gatherings in front area-ways, a + sort of pavement domesticity, that I had never seen before. Being a lover + myself of such friendly intercourse I could actually feel the hum and + warmth of that neighbourhood. + </p> + <p> + A group of brightly clad girl strikers gathered on a corner were chatting + and laughing, and children in plenty ran and shouted at their play in the + street. I saw a group of them dancing merrily around an Italian hand-organ + man who was filling the air with jolly music. I recall what a sinking + sensation I had at the pit of my reformer's stomach when it suddenly + occurred to me that these people some of them, anyway, might actually LIKE + this crowded, sociable neighbourhood! “They might even HATE the country,” + I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + It is surely one of the fundamental humours of life to see absurdly + serious little human beings (like D. G. for example) trying to stand in + the place of the Almighty. We are so confoundedly infallible in our + judgments, so sure of what is good for our neighbour, so eager to force + upon him our particular doctors or our particular remedies; we are so + willing to put our childish fingers into the machinery of creation—and + we howl so lustily when we get them pinched! + </p> + <p> + “Why!” I exclaimed, for it came to me like a new discovery, “it's exactly + the same here as it is in the country! I haven't got to make over the + universe: I've only got to do my own small job, and to look up often at + the trees and the hills and the sky and be friendly with all men.” + </p> + <p> + I cannot express the sense of comfort, and of trust, which this reflection + brought me. I recall stopping just then at the corner of a small green + city square, for I had now reached the better part of the city, and of + seeing with keen pleasure the green of the grass and the bright colour of + a bed of flowers, and two or three clean nursemaids with clean baby cabs, + and a flock of pigeons pluming themselves near a stone fountain, and an + old tired horse sleeping in the sun with his nose buried in a feed bag. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” I said, “all this, too, is beautiful!” So I continued my walk with + quite a new feeling in my heart, prepared again for any adventure life + might have to offer me. + </p> + <p> + I supposed I knew no living soul in Kilburn but Bill the Socialist. What + was my astonishment and pleasure, then in one of the business streets to + discover a familiar face and figure. A man was just stepping from an + automobile to the sidewalk. For an instant; in that unusual environment, I + could not place him, then I stepped up quickly and said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, Friend Vedder.” + </p> + <p> + He looked around with astonishment at the man in the shabby clothes—but + it was only for an instant. + </p> + <p> + “David Grayson!” he exclaimed, “and how did YOU get into the city?” + </p> + <p> + “Walked,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “But I thought you were an incurable and irreproachable countryman! Why + are you here?” + </p> + <p> + “Love o' life,” I said; “love o' life.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are you stopping?” I waved my hand. + </p> + <p> + “Where the road leaves me,” I said. “Last night I left my bag with some + good friends I made in front of a livery stable and I spent the night in + the mill district with a Socialist named Bill Hahn.” + </p> + <p> + “Bill Hahn!” The effect upon Mr. Vedder was magical. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” I said, “and a remarkable man he is, too.” + </p> + <p> + I discovered immediately that my friend was quite as much interested in + the strike as Bill Hahn, but on the other side. He was, indeed, one of the + directors of the greatest mill in Kilburn—the very one which I had + seen the night before surrounded by armed sentinels. It was thrilling to + me, this knowledge, for it seemed to plump me down at once in the middle + of things—and soon, indeed, brought me nearer to the brink of great + events than ever I was before in all my days. + </p> + <p> + I could see that Mr. Vedder considered Bill Hahn as a sort of devouring + monster, a wholly incendiary and dangerous person. So terrible, indeed, + was the warning he gave me (considering me, I suppose an unsophisticated + person) that I couldn't help laughing outright. + </p> + <p> + “I assure you—” he began, apparently much offended. + </p> + <p> + But I interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry I laughed,” I said, “but as you were talking about Bill Hahn, I + couldn't help thinking of him as I first saw him.” And I gave Mr. Vedder + as lively a description as I could of the little man with his bulging coat + tails, his furry ears, his odd round spectacles. He was greatly interested + in what I said and began to ask many questions. I told him with all the + earnestness I could command of Bill's history and of his conversion to his + present beliefs. I found that Mr. Vedder had known Robert Winter very well + indeed, and was amazed at the incident which I narrated of Bill Hahn's + attempt upon his life. + </p> + <p> + I have always believed that if men could be made to understand one another + they would necessarily be friendly, so I did my best to explain Bill Hahn + to Mr. Vedder. + </p> + <p> + “I'm tremendously interested in what you say,” he said, “and we must have + more talk about it.” + </p> + <p> + He told me that he had now to put in an appearance at his office, and + wanted me to go with him; but upon my objection he pressed me to take + luncheon with him a little later, an invitation which I accepted with real + pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “We haven't had a word about gardens,” he said, “and there are no end of + things that Mrs. Vedder and I found that we wanted to talk with you about + after you had left us.” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” I said, much delighted, “let's have a regular old-fashioned + country talk.” + </p> + <p> + So we parted for the time being, and I set off in the highest spirits to + see something more of Kilburn. + </p> + <p> + A city, after all, is a very wonderful place. One thing, I recall, + impressed me powerfully that morning—the way in which every one was + working, apparently without any common agreement or any common purpose, + and yet with a high sort of understanding. The first hearing of a + difficult piece of music (to an uncultivated ear like mine) often yields + nothing but a confused sense of unrelated motives, but later and deeper + hearings reveal the harmony which ran so clear in the master's soul. + </p> + <p> + Something of this sort happened to me in looking out upon the life of that + great city of Kilburn. All about on the streets, in the buildings, under + ground and above ground, men were walking, running, creeping, crawling, + climbing, lifting, digging, driving, buying, selling, sweating, swearing, + praying, loving, hating, struggling, failing, sinning, repenting—all + working and living according to a vast harmony, which sometimes we can + catch clearly and sometimes miss entirely. I think, that morning, for a + time, I heard the true music of the spheres, the stars singing together. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vedder took me to a quiet restaurant where we had a snug alcove all to + ourselves. I shall remember it always as one of the truly pleasant + experiences of my pilgrimage. + </p> + <p> + I could see that my friend was sorely troubled, that the strike rested + heavy upon him, and so I led the conversation to the hills and the roads + and the fields we both love so much. I plied him with a thousand questions + about his garden. I told him in the liveliest way of my adventures after + leaving his home, how I had telephoned him from the hills, how I had taken + a swim in the mill-pond, and especially how I had lost myself in the old + cowpasture, with an account of all my absurd and laughable adventures and + emotions. + </p> + <p> + Well, before we had finished our luncheon I had every line ironed from the + brow of that poor plagued rich man, I had brought jolly crinkles to the + corners of his eyes, and once or twice I had him chuckling down deep + inside (Where chuckles are truly effective). Talk about cheering up the + poor: I think the rich are usually far more in need of it! + </p> + <p> + But I couldn't keep the conversation in these delightful channels. + Evidently the strike and all that it meant lay heavy upon Mr. Vedder's + consciousness, for he pushed back his coffee and began talking about it, + almost in a tone of apology. He told me how kind he had tried to make the + mill management in its dealings with its men. + </p> + <p> + “I would not speak of it save in explanation of our true attitude of + helpfulness; but we have really given our men many advantages”—and + he told me of the reading-room the company had established, of the + visiting nurse they had employed, and of several other excellent + enterprises, which gave only another proof of what I knew already of Mr. + Vedder's sincere kindness of heart. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he said, “we find they don't appreciate what we try to do for + them.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed outright. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” I exclaimed, “you are having the same trouble I have had!” + </p> + <p> + “How's that?” he inquired, I thought a little sharply. Men don't like to + have their seriousness trifled with. + </p> + <p> + “No longer ago than this morning,” I said, “I had exactly that idea of + giving them advantages; but I found that the difficulty lies not with the + ability to give, but with the inability or unwillingness to take. You see + I have a great deal of surplus wealth myself—” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vedder's eyes flickered up at me. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said. “I've got immense accumulations of the wealth of the ages—ingots + of Emerson and Whitman, for example, gems of Voltaire, and I can't tell + what other superfluous coinage!” (And I waved my hand in the most + grandiloquent manner.) “I've also quite a store of knowledge of corn and + calves and cucumbers, and I've a boundless domain of exceedingly valuable + landscapes. I am prepared to give bountifully of all these varied riches + (for I shall still have plenty remaining), but the fact is that this + generation of vipers doesn't appreciate what I am trying to do for them. + I'm really getting frightened, lest they permit me to perish from + undistributed riches!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vedder was still smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” I said, warming up to my idea, “I'm a regular multimillionaire. I've + got so much wealth that I'm afraid I shall not be as fortunate as jolly + Andy Carnegie, for I don't see how I can possibly die poor!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not found a university or so?” asked Mr. Vedder. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I had thought of that. It's a good idea. Let's join our forces and + establish a university where truly serious people can take courses in + laughter.” + </p> + <p> + “Fine idea!” exclaimed Mr. Vedder; “but wouldn't it require an enormous + endowment to accommodate all the applicants? You must remember that this + is a very benighted and illiterate world, laughingly speaking.” + </p> + <p> + “It is, indeed,” I said, “but you must remember that many people, for a + long time, will be too serious to apply. I wonder sometimes if any one + ever learns to laugh really laugh much before he is forty.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Mr. Vedder anxiously, “do you think such an institution would + be accepted by the proletariat of the serious-minded?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that's the trouble,” said I, “that's the trouble. The proletariat + doesn't appreciate what we are trying to do for them! They don't want your + reading-rooms nor my Emerson and cucumbers. The seat of the difficulty + seems to be that what seems wealth to us isn't necessarily wealth for the + other fellow.” + </p> + <p> + I cannot tell with what delight we fenced our way through this foolery + (which was not all foolery, either). I never met a man more quickly + responsive than Mr. Vedder. But he now paused for some moments, evidently + ruminating. + </p> + <p> + “Well, David,” he said seriously, “what are we going to do about this + obstreperous other fellow?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not try the experiment,” I suggested, “of giving him what he + considers wealth, instead of what you consider wealth?” + </p> + <p> + “But what does he consider wealth?” + </p> + <p> + “Equality,” said I. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vedder threw up his hands. + </p> + <p> + “So you're a Socialist, too!” + </p> + <p> + “That,” I said, “is another story.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, supposing we did or could give him this equality you speak of—what + would become of us? What would we get out of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, equality, too!” I said. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vedder threw up his hands up with a gesture of mock resignation. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said he, “let's get down out of Utopia!” + </p> + <p> + We had some further good-humoured fencing and then returned to the + inevitable problem of the strike. While we were discussing the meeting of + the night before which, I learned, had been luridly reported in the + morning papers, Mr. Vedder suddenly turned to me and asked earnestly: + </p> + <p> + “Are you really a Socialist?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said I, “I'm sure of one thing. I'm not ALL Socialist, Bill Hahn + believes with his whole soul (and his faith has made him a remarkable man) + that if only another class of people—his class—could come into + the control of material property, that all the ills that man is heir to + would be speedily cured. But I wonder if when men own property + collectively—as they are going to one of these days—they will + quarrel and hate one another any less than they do now. It is not the + ownership of material property that interests me so much as the + independence of it. When I started out from my farm on this pilgrimage it + seemed to me the most blessed thing in the world to get away from property + and possession.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you then, anyway?” asked Mr. Vedder, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I've thought of a name I would like to have applied to me + sometimes,” I said. “You see I'm tremendously fond of this world exactly + as it is now. Mr. Vedder, it's a wonderful and beautiful place! I've never + seen a better one. I confess I could not possibly live in the rarefied + atmosphere of a final solution. I want to live right here and now for all + I'm worth. The other day a man asked me what I thought was the best time + of life. 'Why,' I answered without a thought, 'Now.' It has always seemed + to me that if a man can't make a go of it, yes, and be happy at this + moment, he can't be at the next moment. But most of all, it seems to me, I + want to get close to people, to look into their hearts, and be friendly + with them. Mr. Vedder, do you know what I'd like to be called?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot imagine,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'd like to be called an Introducer. My friend, Mr. Blacksmith, let + me introduce you to my friend, Mr. Plutocrat. I could almost swear that + you were brothers, so near alike are you! You'll find each other + wonderfully interesting once you get over the awkwardness of the + introduction. And Mr. White Man, let me present you particularly to my + good friend, Mr. Negro. You will see if you sit down to it that this + colour of the face is only skin deep.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a good name!” said Mr. Vedder, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “It's a wonderful name,” said I, “and it's about the biggest and finest + work in the world—to know human beings just as they are, and to make + them acquainted with one another just as they are. Why, it's the + foundation of all the democracy there is, or ever will be. Sometimes I + think that friendliness is the only achievement of life worth while—and + unfriendliness the only tragedy.” + </p> + <p> + I have since felt ashamed of myself when I thought how I lectured my + unprotected host that day at luncheon; but it seemed to boil out of me + irresistibly. The experiences of the past two days had stirred me to the + very depths, and it seemed to me I must explain to somebody how it all + impressed me—and to whom better than to my good friend Vedder? + </p> + <p> + As we were leaving the table an idea flashed across my mind which seemed, + at first, so wonderful that it quite turned me dizzy. + </p> + <p> + “See here, Mr. Vedder,” I exclaimed, “let me follow my occupation + practically. I know Bill Hahn and I know you. Let me introduce you. If you + could only get together, if you could only understand what good fellows + you both are, it might go far toward solving these difficulties.” + </p> + <p> + I had some trouble persuading him, but finally he consented, said he + wanted to leave no stone unturned, and that he would meet Bill Hahn and + some of the other leaders, if proper arrangements could be made. + </p> + <p> + I left him, therefore, in excitement, feeling that I was at the point of + playing a part in a very great event. “Once get these men together,” I + thought, “and they MUST come to an understanding.” + </p> + <p> + So I rushed out to the mill district, saying to myself over and over (I + have smiled about it since!): “We'll settle this strike: we'll settle this + strike: we'll settle this strike.” After some searching I found my friend + Bill in the little room over a saloon that served as strike headquarters. + A dozen or more of the leaders were there, faintly distinguishable through + clouds of tobacco smoke. Among them sat the great R—— D——, + his burly figure looming up at one end of the table, and his strong, + rough, iron-jawed face turning first toward this speaker and then toward + that. The discussion, which had evidently been lively, died down soon + after I appeared at the door, and Bill Hahn came out to me and we sat down + together in the adjoining room. Here I broke eagerly into an account of + the happenings of the day, described my chance meeting with Mr. Vedder—who + was well known to Bill by reputation—and finally asked him squarely + whether he would meet him. I think my enthusiasm quite carried him away. + </p> + <p> + “Sure, I will,” said Bill Hahn heartily. + </p> + <p> + “When and where?” I asked, “and will any of the other men join you?” + </p> + <p> + Bill was all enthusiasm at once, for that was the essence of his + temperament, but he said that he must first refer it to the committee. I + waited, in a tense state of impatience, for what seemed to me a very long + time; but finally the door opened and Bill Hahn came out bringing R—— + D—— himself with him. We all sat down together, and R—— + D—— began to ask questions (he was evidently suspicious as to + who and what I was); but I think, after I talked with them for some time + that I made them see the possibilities and the importance of such a + meeting. I was greatly impressed with R—— D——, the + calmness and steadiness of the man, his evident shrewdness. “A real + general,” I said to myself. “I should like to know him better.” + </p> + <p> + After a long talk they returned to the other room, closing the door behind + them, and I waited again, still more impatiently. + </p> + <p> + It seems rather absurd now, but at that moment I felt firmly convinced + that I was on the way to the permanent settlement of a struggle which had + occupied the best brains of Kilburn for many weeks. + </p> + <p> + While I was waiting in that dingy ante-room, the other door slowly opened + and a boy stuck his head in. + </p> + <p> + “Is David Grayson here?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Here he is,” said I, greatly astonished that any one in Kilburn should be + inquiring for me, or should know where I was. + </p> + <p> + The boy came in, looked at me with jolly round eyes for a moment, and dug + a letter out of his pocket. I opened it at once, and glancing at the + signature discovered that it was from Mr. Vedder. + </p> + <p> + “He said I'd probably find you at strike headquarters,” remarked the boy. + </p> + <p> + This was the letter: marked “Confidential.” + </p> + <p> + My Dear Grayson: I think you must be something of a hypnotist. After you + left me I began to think of the project you mentioned, and I have talked + it over with one or two of my associates. I would gladly hold this + conference, but it does not now seem wise for us to do so. The interests + we represent are too important to be jeopardized. In theory you are + undoubtedly right, but in this case I think you will agree with me (when + you think it over), we must not show any weakness. Come and stop with us + to-night: Mrs. Vedder will be overjoyed to see you and we'll have another + fine talk. + </p> + <p> + I confess I was a good deal cast down as I read this letter. + </p> + <p> + “What interests are so important?” I asked myself, “that they should keep + friends apart?” + </p> + <p> + But I was given only a moment for reflection for the door opened and my + friend Bill, together with R—— D—— and several + other members of the committee, came out. I put the letter in my pocket, + and for a moment my brain never worked under higher pressure. What should + I say to them now? How could I explain myself? + </p> + <p> + Bill Hahn was evidently labouring under considerable excitement, but R—— + D—— was as calm as a judge. He sat down in the chair opposite + and said to me: + </p> + <p> + “We've been figuring out this proposition of Mr. Vedder's. Your idea is + all right, and it would be a fine thing if we could really get together as + you suggest upon terms of common understanding and friendship.” + </p> + <p> + “Just what Mr. Vedder said,” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he continued, “it's all right in theory; but in this case it simply + won't work. Don't you see it's got to be war? Your friend and I could + probably understand each other—but this is a class war. It's all or + nothing with us, and your friend Vedder knows it as well as we do.” + </p> + <p> + After some further argument and explanation, I said: + </p> + <p> + “I see: and this is Socialism.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the great R—— D——, “this is + Socialism.” + </p> + <p> + “And it's force you would use,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “It's force THEY use,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + After I left the strike headquarters that evening—for it was almost + dark before I parted with the committee—I walked straight out + through the crowded streets, so absorbed in my thoughts that I did not + know in the least where I was going. The street lights came out, the + crowds began to thin away, I heard a strident song from a phonograph at + the entrance to a picture show, and as I passed again in front of the + great, dark, many-windowed mill which had made my friend Vedder a rich man + I saw a sentinel turn slowly at the corner. The light glinted on the steel + of his bayonet. He had a fresh, fine, boyish face. + </p> + <p> + “We have some distance yet to go in this world,” I said to myself, “no man + need repine for lack of good work ahead.” + </p> + <p> + It was only a little way beyond this mill that an incident occurred which + occupied probably not ten minutes of time, and yet I have thought about it + since I came home as much as I have thought about any other incident of my + pilgrimage. I have thought how I might have acted differently under the + circumstances, how I could have said this or how I ought to have done that—all, + of course, now to no purpose whatever. But I shall not attempt to tell + what I ought to have done or said, but what I actually did do and say on + the spur of the moment. + </p> + <p> + It was in a narrow, dark street which opened off the brightly lighted main + thoroughfare of that mill neighbourhood. A girl standing in the shadows + between two buildings said to me as I passed: + </p> + <p> + “Good evening.” + </p> + <p> + I stopped instantly, it was such a pleasant, friendly voice. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening,” I said, lifting my hat and wondering that there should be + any one here in this back street who knew me. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + I stepped over quickly toward her, hat in hand. She was a mere slip of a + girl, rather comely, I thought, with small childish features and a + half-timid, half-bold look in her eyes. I could not remember having seen + her before. + </p> + <p> + She smiled at me—and then I knew! + </p> + <p> + Well, if some one had struck me a brutal blow in the face I could not have + been more astonished. + </p> + <p> + We know of things!—and yet how little we know until they are + presented to us in concrete form. Just such a little school girl as I have + seen a thousand times in the country, the pathetic childish curve of the + chin, a small rebellious curl hanging low on her temple. + </p> + <p> + I could not say a word. The girl evidently saw in my face that something + was the matter, for she turned and began to move quickly away. Such a wave + of compassion (and anger, too) swept over me as I cannot well describe. I + stepped after her and asked in a low voice: + </p> + <p> + “Do you work in the mills?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, when there's work.” + </p> + <p> + “What is your name?” + </p> + <p> + “Maggie—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Maggie,” I said, “let's be friends.” + </p> + <p> + She looked around at me curiously, questioningly. + </p> + <p> + “And friends,” I said, “should know something about each other. You see I + am a farmer from the country. I used to live in a city myself, a good many + years ago, but I got tired and sick and hopeless. There was so much that + was wrong about it. I tried to keep the pace and could not. I wish I could + tell you what the country has done for me.” + </p> + <p> + We were walking along slowly, side by side, the girl perfectly passive but + glancing around at me from time to time with a wondering look. I don't + know in the least now what prompted me to do it, but I began telling in a + quiet, low voice—for, after all, she was only a child—I began + telling her about our chickens at the farm and how Harriet had named them + all, and one was Frances E. Willard, and one, a speckled one, was Martha + Washington, and I told her of the curious antics of Martha Washington and + of the number of eggs she laid, and of the sweet new milk we had to drink, + and the honey right out of our own hives, and of the things growing in the + garden. + </p> + <p> + Once she smiled a little, and once she looked around at me with a curious, + timid, half-wistful expression in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Maggie,” I said, “I wish you could go to the country.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to God I could,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + We walked for a moment in silence. My head was whirling with thoughts: + again I had that feeling of helplessness, of inadequacy, which I had felt + so sharply on the previous evening. What could I do? + </p> + <p> + When we reached the corner, I said: + </p> + <p> + “Maggie, I will see you safely home.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed—a hard, bitter laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't need any one to show me around these streets!” + </p> + <p> + “I will see you home,” I said. + </p> + <p> + So we walked quickly along the street together. + </p> + <p> + “Here it is,” she said finally, pointing to a dark, mean-looking, + one-story house, set in a dingy, barren areaway. + </p> + <p> + “Well, good night, Maggie,” I said, “and good luck to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” she said faintly. + </p> + <p> + When I had walked to the corner, I stopped and looked back. She was + standing stock-still just where I had left her—a figure I shall + never forget. + </p> + <p> + I have hesitated about telling of a further strange thing that happened to + me that night—but have decided at last to put it in. I did not + accept Mr. Vedder's invitation: I could not; but I returned to the room in + the tenement where I had spent the previous night with Bill Hahn the + Socialist. It was a small, dark, noisy room, but I was so weary that I + fell almost immediately into a heavy sleep. An hour or more later I don't + know how long indeed—I was suddenly awakened and found myself + sitting bolt upright in bed. It was close and dark and warm there in the + room, and from without came the muffled sounds of the city. For an instant + I waited, rigid with expectancy. And then I heard as clearly and plainly + as ever I heard anything: + </p> + <p> + “David! David!” in my sister Harriet's voice. + </p> + <p> + It was exactly the voice in which she has called me a thousand times. + Without an instant's hesitation, I stepped out of bed and called out: + </p> + <p> + “I'm coming, Harriet! I'm coming!” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” inquired Bill Hahn sleepily. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” I replied, and crept back into bed. + </p> + <p> + It may have been the result of the strain and excitement of the previous + two days. I don't explain it—I can only tell what happened. + </p> + <p> + Before I went to sleep again I determined to start straight for home in + the morning: and having decided, I turned over, drew a long, comfortable + breath and did not stir again, I think, until long after the morning sun + shone in at the window. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. THE RETURN + </h2> + <h3> + “Everything divine runs with light feet.” + </h3> + <p> + Surely the chief delight of going away from home is the joy of getting + back again. I shall never forget that spring morning when I walked from + the city of Kilburn into the open country, my bag on my back, a song in my + throat, and the gray road stretching straight before me. I remember how + eagerly I looked out across the fields and meadows and rested my eyes upon + the distant hills. How roomy it all was! I looked up into the clear blue + of the sky. There was space here to breathe, and distances in which the + spirit might spread its wings. As the old prophet says, it was a place + where a man might be placed alone in the midst of the earth. + </p> + <p> + I was strangely glad that morning of every little stream that ran under + the bridges, I was glad of the trees I passed, glad of every bird and + squirrel in the branches, glad of the cattle grazing in the fields, glad + of the jolly boys I saw on their way to school with their dinner pails, + glad of the bluff, red-faced teamster I met, and of the snug farmer who + waved his hand at me and wished me a friendly good morning. It seemed to + me that I liked every one I saw, and that every one liked me. + </p> + <p> + So I walked onward that morning, nor ever have had such a sense of relief + and escape, nor ever such a feeling of gayety. + </p> + <p> + “Here is where I belong,” I said. “This is my own country. Those hills are + mine, and all the fields, and the trees and the sky—and the road + here belongs to me as much as it does to any one.” + </p> + <p> + Coming presently to a small house near the side of the road, I saw a woman + working with a trowel in her sunny garden. It was good to see her turn + over the warm brown soil; it was good to see the plump green rows of + lettuce and the thin green rows of onions, and the nasturtiums and sweet + peas; it was good—after so many days in that desert of a city—to + get a whiff of blossoming things. I stood for a moment looking quietly + over the fence before the woman saw me. When at last she turned and looked + up, I said: + </p> + <p> + “Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + She paused, trowel in hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning,” she replied; “you look happy.” + </p> + <p> + I wasn't conscious that I was smiling outwardly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am,” I said; “I'm going home.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you OUGHT to be happy,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “And I'm glad to escape THAT,” and I pointed toward the city. + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, that old monster lying there in the valley.” + </p> + <p> + I could see that she was surprised and even a little alarmed. So I began + intently to admire her young cabbages and comment on the perfection of her + geraniums. But I caught her eying me from time to time as I leaned there + on the fence, and I knew that she would come back sooner or later to my + remark about the monster. Having shocked your friend (not too + unpleasantly), abide your time, and he will want to be shocked again. So I + was not at all surprised to hear her ask: + </p> + <p> + “Have you travelled far?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say so!” I replied. “I've been on a very long journey. I've seen + many strange sights and met many wonderful people.” + </p> + <p> + “You may have been in California, then. I have a daughter in California.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I, “I was never in California.” + </p> + <p> + “You've been a long time from home, you say?” + </p> + <p> + “A very long time from home.” + </p> + <p> + “How long?” + </p> + <p> + “Three weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “Three weeks! And how far did you say you had travelled?” + </p> + <p> + “At the farthest point, I should say sixty miles from home.” + </p> + <p> + “But how can you say that in travelling only sixty miles and being gone + three weeks that you have seen so many strange places and people?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” I exclaimed, “haven't you seen anything strange around here?'” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no—” glancing quickly around her. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm strange, am I not?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—” + </p> + <p> + “And you're strange.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me with the utmost amazement. I could scarcely keep from + laughing. + </p> + <p> + “I assure you,” I said, “that if you travel a thousand miles you will find + no one stranger than I am—or you are—nor anything more + wonderful than all this—” and I waved my hand. + </p> + <p> + This time she looked really alarmed, glancing quickly toward the house, so + that I began to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” I said, “good morning!” + </p> + <p> + So I left her standing there by the fence looking after me, and I went on + down the road. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, “she'll have something new to talk about. It may add a + month to her life. Was there ever such an amusing world!” + </p> + <p> + About noon that day I had an adventure that I have to laugh over every + time I think of it. It was unusual, too, as being almost the only incident + of my journey which was of itself in the least thrilling or out of the + ordinary. Why, this might have made an item in the country paper! + </p> + <p> + For the first time on my trip I saw a man that I really felt like calling + a tramp—a tramp in the generally accepted sense of the term. When I + left home I imagined I should meet many tramps, and perhaps learn from + them odd and curious things about life; but when I actually came into + contact with the shabby men of the road, I began to be puzzled. What was a + tramp, anyway? + </p> + <p> + I found them all strangely different, each with his own distinctive + history, and each accounting for himself as logically as I could for + myself. And save for the fact that in none of them I met were the outward + graces and virtues too prominently displayed, I have come back quite + uncertain as to what a scientist might call type-characteristics. I had + thought of following Emerson in his delightfully optimistic definition of + a weed. A weed, he says, is a plant whose virtues have not been + discovered. A tramp, then, is a man whose virtues have not been + discovered. Or, I might follow my old friend the Professor (who dearly + loves all growing things) in his even kindlier definition of a weed. He + says that it is merely a plant misplaced. The virility of this definition + has often impressed me when I have tried to grub the excellent and useful + horseradish plants out of my asparagus bed! Let it be then—a tramp + is a misplaced man, whose virtues have not been discovered. + </p> + <p> + Whether this is an adequate definition or not, it fitted admirably the man + I overtook that morning on the road. He was certainly misplaced, and + during my brief but exciting experience with him I discovered no virtues + whatever. + </p> + <p> + In one way he was quite different from the traditional tramp. He walked + with far too lively a step, too jauntily, and he had with him a small, + shaggy, nondescript dog, a dog as shabby as he, trotting close at his + heels. He carried a light stick, which he occasionally twirled over in his + hand. As I drew nearer I could hear him whistling and even, from time to + time, breaking into a lively bit of song. What a devil-may-care chap he + seemed, anyway! I was greatly interested. + </p> + <p> + When at length I drew alongside he did not seem in the least surprised. He + turned, glanced at me with his bold black eyes, and broke out again into + the song he was singing. And these were the words of his song—at + least, all I can remember of them: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oh, I'm so fine and gay, + I'm so fine and gay, + I have to take a dog along, + To kape the ga-irls away. +</pre> + <p> + What droll zest he put into it! He had a red nose, a globular red nose set + on his face like an overgrown strawberry, and from under the worst derby + hat in the world burst his thick curly hair. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm so fine and gay,” he sang, stepping to the rhythm of his song, + and looking the very image of good-humoured impudence. I can't tell how + amused and pleased I was—though if I had known what was to happen + later I might not have been quite so friendly—yes, I would too! + </p> + <p> + We fell into conversation, and it wasn't long before I suggested that we + stop for luncheon together somewhere along the road. He cast a quick + appraising eye at my bag, and assented with alacrity. We climbed a fence + and found a quiet spot near a little brook. + </p> + <p> + I was much astonished to observe the resources of my jovial companion. + Although he carried neither bag nor pack and appeared to have nothing + whatever in his pockets, he proceeded, like a professional + prestidigitator, to produce from his shabby clothing an extraordinary + number of curious things—a black tin can with a wire handle, a small + box of matches, a soiled package which I soon learned contained tea, a + miraculously big dry sausage wrapped in an old newspaper, and a + clasp-knife. I watched him with breathless interest. + </p> + <p> + He cut a couple of crotched sticks to hang the pail on and in two or three + minutes had a little fire, no larger than a man's hand, burning brightly + under it. (“Big fires,” said he wisely, “are not for us.”) This he fed + with dry twigs, and in a very few minutes he had a pot of tea from which + he offered me the first drink. This, with my luncheon and part of his + sausage, made up a very good meal. + </p> + <p> + While we were eating, the little dog sat sedately by the fire. From time + to time his master would say, “Speak, Jimmy.” + </p> + <p> + Jimmy would sit up on his haunches, his two front paws hanging limp, turn + his head to one side in the drollest way imaginable and give a yelp. His + master would toss him a bit of sausage or bread and he would catch it with + a snap. + </p> + <p> + “Fine dog!” commented my companion. + </p> + <p> + “So he seems,” said I. + </p> + <p> + After the meal was over my companion proceeded to produce other surprises + from his pockets—a bag of tobacco, a brier pipe (which he kindly + offered to me and which I kindly refused), and a soiled packet of + cigarette papers. Having rolled a cigarette with practised facility, he + leaned up against a tree, took off his hat, lighted the cigarette and, + having taken a long draw at it, blew the smoke before him with an + incredible air of satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “Solid comfort this here—hey!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + We had some further talk, but for so jovial a specimen he was surprisingly + uncommunicative. Indeed, I think he soon decided that I somehow did not + belong to the fraternity, that I was a “farmer”—in the most + opprobrious sense—and he soon began to drowse, rousing himself once + or twice to roll another cigarette, but finally dropping (apparently, at + least) fast asleep. + </p> + <p> + I was glad enough of the rest and quiet after the strenuous experience of + the last two days—and I, too, soon began to drowse. It didn't seem + to me then that I lost consciousness at all, but I suppose I must have + done so, for when I suddenly opened my eyes and sat up my companion had + vanished. How he succeeded in gathering up his pail and packages so + noiselessly and getting away so quickly is a mystery to me. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, “that's odd.” + </p> + <p> + Rousing myself deliberately I put on my hat and was about to take up my + bag when I suddenly discovered that it was open. My rain-cape was missing! + It wasn't a very good rain-cape, but it was missing. + </p> + <p> + At first I was inclined to be angry, but when I thought of my jovial + companion and the cunning way in which he had tricked me, I couldn't help + laughing. At the same time I jumped up quickly and ran down the road. + </p> + <p> + “I may get him yet,” I said. + </p> + <p> + Just as I stepped out of the woods I caught a glimpse of a man some + hundreds of yards away, turning quickly from the main road into a lane or + by-path. I wasn't altogether sure that he was my man, but I ran across the + road and climbed the fence. I had formed the plan instantly of cutting + across the field and so striking the by-road farther up the hill. I had a + curious sense of amused exultation, the very spirit of the chase, and my + mind dwelt with the liveliest excitement on what I should say or do if I + really caught that jolly spark of impudence. + </p> + <p> + So I came by way of a thicket along an old stone fence to the by-road, and + there, sure enough, only a little way ahead of me, was my man with the + shaggy little dog close at his heels. He was making pretty good time, but + I skirted swiftly along the edge of the road until I had nearly overtaken + him. Then I slowed down to a walk and stepped out into the middle of the + road. I confess my heart was pounding at a lively rate. The next time he + looked behind him—guiltily enough, too!—I said in the calmest + voice I could command: + </p> + <p> + “Well, brother, you almost left me behind.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped and I stepped up to him. + </p> + <p> + I wish I could describe the look in his face—mingled astonishment, + fear, and defiance. + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” I said, “I'm disappointed in you.” + </p> + <p> + He made no reply. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'm disappointed. You did such a very poor job.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor job!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said, and I slipped my bag off my shoulder and began to rummage + inside. My companion watched me silently and suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “You should not have left the rubbers.” + </p> + <p> + With that I handed him my old rubbers. A peculiar expression came into the + man's face. + </p> + <p> + “Say, pardner, what you drivin' at?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, “I don't like to see such evidences of haste and + inefficiency.” + </p> + <p> + He stood staring at me helplessly, holding my old rubbers at arm's length. + </p> + <p> + “Come on now,” I said, “that's over. We'll walk along together.” + </p> + <p> + I was about to take his arm, but quick as a flash he dodged, cast both + rubbers and rain-cape away from him, and ran down the road for all he was + worth, the little dog, looking exactly like a rolling ball of fur, pelting + after him. He never once glanced back, but ran for his life. I stood there + and laughed until the tears came, and ever since then, at the thought of + the expression on the jolly rover's face when I gave him my rubbers, I've + had to smile. I put the rain-cape and rubbers back into my bag and turned + again to the road. + </p> + <p> + Before the afternoon was nearly spent I found myself very tired, for my + two days' experience in the city had been more exhausting for me, I think, + than a whole month of hard labour on my farm. I found haven with a + friendly farmer, whom I joined while he was driving his cows in from the + pasture. I helped him with his milking both that night and the next + morning, and found his situation and family most interesting—but I + shall not here enlarge upon that experience. + </p> + <p> + It was late afternoon when I finally surmounted the hill from which I knew + well enough I could catch the first glimpse of my farm. For a moment after + I reached the top I could not raise my eyes, and when finally I was able + to raise them I could not see. + </p> + <p> + “There is a spot in Arcady—a spot in Arcady—a spot in Arcady—” + So runs the old song. + </p> + <p> + There IS a spot in Arcady, and at the centre of it there is a weather-worn + old house, and not far away a perfect oak tree, and green fields all + about, and a pleasant stream fringed with alders in the little valley. And + out of the chimney into the sweet, still evening air rises the slow white + smoke of the supper-fire. + </p> + <p> + I turned from the main road, and climbed the fence and walked across my + upper field to the old wood lane. The air was heavy and sweet with clover + blossoms, and along the fences I could see that the raspberry bushes were + ripening their fruit. + </p> + <p> + So I came down the lane and heard the comfortable grunting of pigs in the + pasture lot and saw the calves licking one another as they stood at the + gate. + </p> + <p> + “How they've grown!” I said. + </p> + <p> + I stopped at the corner of the barn for a moment. From within I heard the + rattling of milk in a pail (a fine sound), and heard a man's voice saying: + </p> + <p> + “Whoa, there! Stiddy now!” + </p> + <p> + “Dick's milking,” I said. + </p> + <p> + So I stepped in at the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Lord, Mr. Grayson!” exclaimed Dick, rising instantly and clasping my hand + like a long-lost brother. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad to see you!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad to see YOU!” + </p> + <p> + The warm smell of the new milk, the pleasant sound of animals stepping + about in the stable, the old mare reaching her long head over the + stanchion to welcome me, and nipping at my fingers when I rubbed her nose— + </p> + <p> + And there was the old house with the late sun upon it, the vines hanging + green over the porch, Harriet's trim flower bed—I crept along + quietly to the corner. The kitchen door stood open. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Harriet!” I said, stepping inside. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy! David!” + </p> + <p> + I have rarely known Harriet to be in quite such a reckless mood. She kept + thinking of a new kind of sauce or jam for supper (I think there were + seven, or were there twelve? on the table before I got through). And there + was a new rhubarb pie such as only Harriet can make, just brown enough on + top, and not too brown, with just the right sort of hills and hummocks in + the crust, and here and there little sugary bubbles where a suggestion of + the goodness came through—such a pie—! and such an appetite to + go with it! + </p> + <p> + “Harriet,” I said, “you're spoiling me. Haven't you heard how dangerous it + is to set such a supper as this before a man who is perishing with hunger? + Have you no mercy for me?” + </p> + <p> + This remark produced the most extraordinary effect. Harriet was at that + moment standing in the corner near the pump. Her shoulders suddenly began + to shake convulsively. + </p> + <p> + “She's so glad I'm home that she can't help laughing,” I thought, which + shows how penetrating I really am. + </p> + <p> + She was crying. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Harriet!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Hungry!” she burst out, “and j-joking about it!” + </p> + <p> + I couldn't say a single word; something—it must have been a piece of + the rhubarb pie—stuck in my throat. So I sat there and watched her + moving quietly about in that immaculate kitchen. After a time I walked + over to where she stood by the table and put my arm around her quickly. + She half turned her head, in her quick, businesslike way. I noted how firm + and clean and sweet her face was. + </p> + <p> + “Harriet,” I said, “you grow younger every year.” + </p> + <p> + No response. + </p> + <p> + “Harriet,” I said, “I haven't seen a single person anywhere on my journey + that I like as much as I do you.” + </p> + <p> + The quick blood came up. + </p> + <p> + “There—there—David!” she said. + </p> + <p> + So I stepped away. + </p> + <p> + “And as for rhubarb pie, Harriet—” + </p> + <p> + When I first came to my farm years ago there were mornings when I woke up + with the strong impression that I had just been hearing the most exquisite + sounds of music. I don't know whether this is at all a common experience, + but in those days (and farther back in my early boyhood) I had it + frequently. It did not seem exactly like music either, but was rather a + sense of harmony, so wonderful, so pervasive that it cannot be described. + I have not had it so often in recent years, but on the morning after I + reached home it came to me as I awakened with a strange depth and + sweetness. I lay for a moment there in my clean bed. The morning sun was + up and coming in cheerfully through the vines at the window; a gentle + breeze stirred the clean white curtains, and I could smell even there the + odours of the garden. + </p> + <p> + I wish I had room to tell, but I cannot, of all the crowded experiences of + that day—the renewal of acquaintance with the fields, the cattle, + the fowls, the bees, of my long talks with Harriet and Dick Sheridan, who + had cared for my work while I was away; of the wonderful visit of the + Scotch Preacher, of Horace's shrewd and whimsical comments upon the + general absurdity of the head of the Grayson family—oh, of a + thousand things—and how when I went into my study and took up the + nearest book in my favourite case—it chanced to be “The Bible in + Spain”—it opened of itself at one of my favourite passages, the one + beginning: + </p> + <p> + “Mistos amande, I am content—” + </p> + <p> + So it's all over! It has been a great experience; and it seems to me now + that I have a firmer grip on life, and a firmer trust in that Power which + orders the ages. In a book I read not long ago, called “A Modern Utopia,” + the writer provides in his imaginary perfect state of society a class of + leaders known as Samurai. And, from time to time, it is the custom of + these Samurai to cut themselves loose from the crowding world of men, and + with packs on their backs go away alone to far places in the deserts or on + Arctic ice caps. I am convinced that every man needs some such change as + this, an opportunity to think things out, to get a new grip on life, and a + new hold on God. But not for me the Arctic ice cap or the desert! I choose + the Friendly Road—and all the common people who travel in it or live + along it—I choose even the busy city at the end of it. + </p> + <p> + I assure you, friend, that it is a wonderful thing for a man to cast + himself freely for a time upon the world, not knowing where his next meal + is coming from, nor where he is going to sleep for the night. It is a + surprising readjuster of values. I paid my way, I think, throughout my + pilgrimage; but I discovered that stamped metal is far from being the + world's only true coin. As a matter of fact, there are many things that + men prize more highly—because they are rarer and more precious. + </p> + <p> + My friend, if you should chance yourself some day to follow the Friendly + Road, you may catch a fleeting glimpse of a man in a rusty hat, carrying a + gray bag, and sometimes humming a little song under his breath for the joy + of being there. And it may actually happen, if you stop him, that he will + take a tin whistle from his bag and play for you, “Money Musk,” or “Old + Dan Tucker,” or he may produce a battered old volume of Montaigne from + which he will read you a passage. If such an adventure should befall you, + know that you have met + </p> + <p> + Your friend, + </p> + <p> + David Grayson. + </p> + <p> + P. S.—Harriet bemoans most of all the unsolved mystery of the sign + man. But it doesn't bother me in the least. I'm glad now I never found + him. The poet sings his song and goes his way. If we sought him out how + horribly disappointed we might be! We might find him shaving, or eating + sausage, or drinking a bottle of beer. We might find him shaggy and + unkempt where we imagined him beautiful, weak where we thought him strong, + dull where we thought him brilliant. Take then the vintage of his heart + and let him go. As for me, I'm glad some mystery is left in this world. A + thousand signs on my roadways are still as unexplainable, as mysterious, + and as beguiling as this. And I can close my narrative with no better + motto for tired spirits than that of the country roadside: + </p> + <p> + [ REST ] <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Friendly Road, by +(AKA David Grayson) Ray Stannard Baker + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FRIENDLY ROAD *** + +***** This file should be named 2479-h.htm or 2479-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/7/2479/ + +Produced by Aaron Cannon, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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