ck of hay might have brought fragrance to Al's
sensitive nostrils, but to me it seemed as well suited as a
reservoir for perfume as for a monument in a cemetery.

I want to live in the love and esteem of my friends of today; I
cherish the memory of the old friends, and I value their love
and esteem, but the memory of the old straw pile back of the
barn still clings to me closer than all these, and e'er I get
ready to go back to the darned old farm, I will make myself a
pair of wooden bills and perch myself on the stake and rider
fence, prepared to take my turn with the hennery.

"Visit me," he says, "and endeavor to live the life of a boy
over again on the farm." Not for Bill, and I can but repeat what
I said in my profane way, again and again.

Al. can have the farm, but as for me it's first "back to the
mines, Bill." With sad memories of the milk pail, the fork and
curry comb, I am,

Sadly and sorrowfully yours,
BILL BROWN.

Insofar as Alfred's knowledge goes, Bill Brown's pessimistic views of
farm life were not accepted by any save Alfred's immediate family.
Alfred carried a copy of his address, "A Glimpse of Nature, or Back to
the Farm" in his pocket. Mrs. Field preserved Bill Brown's screed. As
one prediction of Bill's after another came to pass, she would say to
Alfred: "There, see there? Even Mr. Brown knew what would come of this
farming business."

The dyke was constructed and would no doubt have answered the purpose
intended had it not been constructed of clayey soil that disintegrated
and floated away with the muddy current the first freshet.

Chickens were the first purchases. Rhode Island Reds, Alfred asserted,
were superior as farm chickens. They were good layers, good setters and
good mothers. One hundred hens and two roosters were the basis of the
poultry plant. Alfred had read that one hundred hens properly catered to
would produce on an average five dozens of eggs a day. Eggs were fifty
cents a dozen. He figured that fifteen dollars a week would be pretty
good. Of course, he had forgotten that farm hands eat eggs. Two dozen
eggs were brought to the city and delivered to the home of Alfred, where
the family rests up in the winter from the farm labors of the summer.
"Of course, it's not what I expected," he consolingly admitted to his
wife, "but you can't move chickens from one place to another and have
them do well.