The Friendly Road: New Adventures in Contentment

ctacles), I remained steadfastly on the Great Road or near it. It was a prim

arb and asparagus." Then I remembered how the morning sunshine would look on the little vi

image began that I had thought with

actical 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 ly

inarily alluring advertiser? I confess my heart went into my

ant 2 mil

ave been surpr

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

does i

n't thought," said

by any chance

I didn't noti

e he wore a

n straw," replied the

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

ew significance. I suppose I had seen a thousand rural-mail boxes along country roads before that day,

ooking 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 ou

the shy country road and the outstretched hands. At first I did not think of anything I could do-save to go u

write a

est amusement I began to formul

er 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

ntry 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

nd in spite of all I could do, I could imagine no expression on their faces save one of incredulity and su

in speculating as to whether this was a new scheme for selling him second-ra

imple friendship. Is it not a comment upon our civilization that it is so often easier to believe that

t I was on the point of taking again to the road, when it

ld. There is no door it will not unlock, no problem it will n

as standing there in the middle of the public road, one clenched fist absurdl

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 gr

ainted 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 met

a friendly word,"

Clark on my envelope and

y 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 som

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 unde

d woman, pointing with a long finger, "is the Clarks'. Y

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. Th

at and go to work with them and the first thing I know we have become first-rate friends.

into step with a man

y in the yard. I went in at the gate, not knowing in the least what I should say or do, but determi

buy nothin',"

te, for I have nothing to sell.

ed at m

t's

nk of

lled to a shy older girl who ha

ng a dipper

d me, and the man continued to sit in his chair, sayin

mething to stir t

anted. 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

nkly in the doorway with her hands wrapped in her apron, "you ha

," she respon

, and, replacing my whistle, I began with

hildren hopping about in the yard, and the forlorn man tapping his toe to the tune, and a smile on the face of the forlorn w

doodl

doodl

music and

the girls

rstand why it was-when I looked up at the woma

girl with the dipper, and then, as if she had done something qu

ads in the yard instantly puckered his lips to s

le, I hung Jeff Davis on the sour apple-tree, and I sent the soul of John

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

loosened up with laughter, although I wasn't quite sure some of the time whether Mrs. Clark was laughing or crying. I

tant; 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 i

wonder if anything is ever trivial. A year of poor crops, sickness, low prices, d

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 final

k 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

e, a freckled-nosed neighbo

lark," said he. "I broug

exclaimed

t least three of the

Brewster," said Mr.

nterest I have rarely experienced. I had no idea what a mere lett

on it!" exclaim

y in her hands. Mr. Clark hastily pu

had inspected it minutely he solemnly tore

h breathless interest. How would they take it? Would they catch the meani

end, turned the sheet over and examined it carefully, and then bega

t mean?" ask

be true," said Mrs

days or weeks-had not the older girl, now flushed of face and rather pr

wrote

their eyes for a moment,

y, "I wrote it, and I

accepted as simply as a neighbourly good morning. I suppose the mystery of it w

house. And immediately we fell into a lively discussion of crops and farming, and indeed the whole farm quest

I believe to be improper education) which was better able to discuss the problems of rural life than to grapple with and solve them

that his conversation, like an old-fashioned song, has a regu

h," he sang, or, "If I had a few

ess. He considered himself poor and helpless because he lacked dollars, where

that I was greatly surprised to hea

come in t

acked 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

t into a good garden in the summer days and bring in loaded baskets

on Mrs. Clark's face that I

to see if it is ready and then stripping it

to see if they are ripe? Oh, I tell you there are thousands of people in

like best to hear the hens cackling in the barnyard in the m

daily prese

Clark, thinking, no doubt, that there were o

are preserves, or sweet pickles, or jam, or whatever it is, simmering on the stove. No matter where you are, up in the gar

th a laugh that could certainly

. It was amusing to see him struggling against a chee

but-" h

I headed

. It's a free life, the farmer's life. No one can discharge you because yo

l, b

no rent, nor of having to

l, b

treet-car, or having the ch

hat my children would do if we

not!" I e

heir jobs; but before we went to bed that night I had the forlorn T. N.

in his eyes (your American is an irrepressible trader) as th

ssertation on the advantages,

f them was a shaggy old orchard of good and

old mine here!" And I told him how in our neighbourhood we were renovating the

practical Mrs. Clark with my enthusiasm, and she promised at once to send for a bulletin on apple-tree renovation, p

more land-for the season was already late-we get out all the accumulations of rotted m

," I said, "is far more profitable th

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 renewed hope and courage in it. I thought as I looked a

band of yours grow corn, and cows, and apples as you raise c

lowing day hard at work in the field, and all the time talking over ways and means f

friendliness of our parting. Mrs. Cl

e began, with the tear

try-" said

wn the country road,