rdination of
values. I have heard of one farmer--just one--who had."

"What is it?--and who was he?" said Jonathan, submissively.

I think he was relieved that the huckleberry question was not being
followed up.

"I believe he was your great-uncle by marriage. They say that there was
a certain field that was full of butterfly-weed--you know, gorgeous
orange stuff--"

"I know," said he. "What about it?"

"Well, there was a meadow that was full of it, just in its glory when
the grass was ready to cut. Jonathan, what would you have done?"

"Go on," said Jonathan.

"Well, he always mowed that field himself, and when he came to a clump
of butterfly-weed, he always _mowed around_ it."

"Very pretty," said Jonathan, in an impersonal way.

"And that," I added, "is what I call having a proper subordination of
values."

"I see," said he.

"And now," I went on, with almost too ostentatious sweetness, "if you
will tell me where to find a huckleberry patch that is not already
reduced to cinders, I will go out to-morrow and get some for pies."

Jonathan knew, and so did I, that there were still plenty of berry
bushes left. Nevertheless, he was moved.

"Now, see here," he began seriously, "I don't want to spoil the farm for
you. Only I don't know which things you like. If you'll just tell me the
places you don't want touched, I'll speak to Hiram about them."

"Really?" I exclaimed. "Why, I'll tell you now, right away. There's the
lane--you know, that mustn't be touched; and the ledges--but you
couldn't do anything to those, of course, anyway."

"No, even the hobo wouldn't tackle them," said Jonathan grimly.

"And the birches, the ones that are left. You promised me those, you
know. And the swamp, of course, and the cedar knoll where the high-bush
blueberries grow, and then--oh, yes--that lovely hillside beyond the
long meadow where the sumac is, and the dogwood, and everything. And, of
course, the rest of the huckleberries--"

"The rest of the huckleberries!" said he. "That means all the farm.
There isn't a spot as big as your hat where you can't show me some sort
of a huckleberry bush."

"So much the better," I said contentedly.

"Oh, come now," he protested. "Be reasonable. Even your wonderful farmer
that you tell about did a little mowing. He mowed around the
butterfly-weed, but he mowed. You're making the farm into solid
butterfly-weed, and there'll be no mowing at all."

"Why, Jonathan, I've left you the