The Friendly Road: New Adventures in Contentment

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

e point of pushing my notes to the edge of the table where (had I let go) they would ha

so much to me, it may mean something to t

ur deepest interest, but what goes on inside. Consider then that in this narrative I shall open a little door in my

m 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 k

. 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,

y meat for a crust of bread; I've changed my book for a

brook sparkled and murmured at the roadside. The recent rain had washed the atmosphere until it was as clear and sparkling and heady as ne

country," and it did not seem to me I cared to know wher

l enough anywhe

e, 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

oy 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 t

just call

where I sat, I placed one hand to my

ral, give me

le at my own absurdity and yet qu

, Mrs. Vedder! Well, th

e. A bad penny, a

ies 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 s

Road and turn at the turning by the tulip-tree, and you

le instant it had seemed almost tr

shall be able to call our friends through space and time. Some day we shall discover tha

graphs 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 foolis

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 devo

ch 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

med. "Montaigne's no writer for the open air.

the first opportunity I had found for reading (as it was almost the last), so full was the present world of stirring events. As

rth again along the slope of the hills-not hurrying, just drifting and enjoying every sight and sound. And thu

n 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 th

o 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

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

y strokes, I returned to the sand-bank, and there, standing in a spot of war

d to be alive at

meadow where I threw myself down on the grass under an apple-tree and looked up into the shadowy place

feeling cold and stiff, and opened my eyes upon the dus

of the most exciting and, when all is said, amusing incidents in my whole life. And

one of complete panic. What

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 kn

D, I entered the forest on one side of the meadow (with quite a heroic sense of adventure), but scraped my

I was still partly asleep

ost matter-of-fact tone, "is a little co

oning it out, with the result that I t

ain that I should have gone down to the pond, crossed o

my utter amazement, in the few short hours while I had been asleep, that entire body of water had evaporated, the dam had d

oming 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 whet

I think I never wanted so much to see some si

ame 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 pl

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, sav

"-the humour of the whole situation suddenly came over me, and, beginning with a chuckle

ods, 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

the sky and the single bright star, "which is

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

f 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 moi

ot Mon

and with a curious sensation of satisfaction

h a chuckle. It was amazing how Montaigne sp

aid, "and there's his observations on the eating of

by coaxing, got my fire to going. It was not difficult a

ilities 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 althoug

who dread life-how m

gathered a plentiful supply of wood and placed it near at hand, I got out my waterproof cape and pu

pward 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 fores

generous and outright it is! It plays for you when you wish so

e 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 w

ods, the little droppings, cracklings, rustlings which seemed to make all the world alive. I even fancied I could see small bri

a few dry pages of Montaigne to the fire, a

spaces and the stars. Without a roof over his

n, I grew chilly and awakened, to build up the fire and doze again. I saw the first faint gray streaks of dawn abov

ight and looked about me curiously, I saw

aown in my cowpasture all nig

t fellow

u come right u

said, and

..."