he felt quite proud and happy
when of cash he was relieved. And the merchant's word was golden, what
he said was always true, and he sold no moldy beeswax, saying it was
good as new. And his trade kept on increasing till his bank account
was fat, and the sheriff, when he met him, always bowed and tipped his
hat.

THE OPEN ROAD

Romance

To walk again the open road I have a springtime longing; I yearn to
leave my town abode, the jostling and the thronging, and tread again
the quiet lanes, among the woodland creatures; where birds are singing
joyous strains to beat the music teachers. Afar from honks of motor
cars, and all the city's clamor, I'd like to sleep beneath the stars,
and feel no katzenjammer when in the vernal dawn I wake, as chipper as
the foxes, to eat my frugal oatmeal cake put up in paper boxes. I fain
would revel in the breeze that blows across the clover, and drink from
brooks, with stately trees, like Druids, bending over. I'd leave the
pavement and the wall, the too persistent neighbor, and hear the
rooster's early call that wakes the world to labor. I'd seek the
hayfields whose perfume the jaded heart doth nourish, I'd go where
wayside roses bloom and johnny-jump-ups flourish. I'd see the pasture
flecked with sheep and mule and colt and heifer, and let my spirit lie
asleep upon the twilight zephyr. Oh, town, I leave you for a week,
your burdens and your duties! The country calls me--I must seek its
glories and its beauties!

Reality

Gee whiz! I'd give a million bones to be back home a-sleeping! My
shoes are full of burs and stones, and I am tired of weeping. Last
night I sought a stack of hay, where slumber's fetters bound me, and at
the cold, bleak break of day a husky farmer found me. I tried to
pacify his nibs when he stood there and blessed me; alas, his pitchfork
smote my ribs, his cowhide shoes caressed me. The dogs throughout this
countryside all seem to think they need me; they've gathered samples of
my hide, and many times they've treed me. And when I roamed the
woodland path to see the wild-flowers' tinting, a bull pursued me in
its wrath and broke all records sprinting. At noontide I sat down to
rest, and rose depressed and dizzy; I'd sat upon a hornet's nest, and
all the birds got busy. My whiskers now are full of hay, my legs are
lame and weary; it's been a-raining every day, and all the world is
dreary. The road will do for those who like a pathway rough a