ct for diversion and happiness. The dismissal
came without warning, like the fall of a tree when no wind shakes the
forest, but it was imperative and peremptory. The doctors (and they were
among the best in the land) said, "No more of this kind of work for
years," and I had to accept their verdict, though I knew that "for
years" meant forever.

My disappointment lasted longer than the acute attack; but, thanks to
the cheerful spirit of my wife, by early summer of that year I was able
to face the situation with courage that grew as strength increased.
Fortunately we were well to do, and the loss of professional income was
not a serious matter. We were not rich as wealth is counted nowadays;
but we were more than comfortable for ourselves and our children, though
I should never earn another dollar. This is not the common state of the
physician, who gives more and gets less than most other men; it was
simply a happy combination of circumstances. Polly was a small heiress
when we married; I had some money from my maternal grandfather; our
income was larger than our necessities, and our investments had been
fortunate. Fate had set no wolf to howl at our door.

In June we decided to take to the woods, or rather to the country, to
see what it had in store for us. The more we thought of it, the better I
liked the plan, and Polly was no less happy over it. We talked of it
morning, noon, and night, and my half-smothered instinct grew by what it
fed on. Countless schemes at length resolved themselves into a factory
farm, which should be a source of pleasure as well as of income. It was
of all sizes, shapes, industries, and limits of expenditure, as the
hours passed and enthusiasm waxed or waned. I finally compromised on
from two hundred to three hundred acres of land, with a total
expenditure of not more than $60,000 for the building of my factory. It
was to produce butter, eggs, pork, and apples, all of best quality, and
they were to be sold at best prices. I discoursed at some length on
farms and farmers to Polly, who slept through most of the harangue. She
afterward said that she enjoyed it, but I never knew whether she
referred to my lecture or to her nap.

If farming be the art of elimination, I want it not. If the farmer and
the farmer's family must, by the nature of the occupation, be deprived
of reasonable leisure and luxury, if the conveniences and amenities must
be shorn close, if comfort must be denied and life be red