tell more of what I saw there, of the garden back of the
house, and of all the road-worker and his wife told me of their simple
history--but, the road calls!

When I set forth early this morning the road-worker followed me out
to the smooth macadam (his wife standing in the doorway with her hands
rolled in her apron) and said to me, a bit shyly:

"I'll be more sort o'--sort o' interested in roads since I've seen you."

"I'll be along again some of these days," said I, laughing, "and I'll
stop in and show you my new stock of spectacles. Maybe I can sell you
another pair!"

"Maybe you kin," and he smiled a broad, understanding smile.

Nothing brings men together like having a joke in common.

So I walked off down the road--in the best of spirits--ready for the
events of another day.

It will surely be a great adventure, one of these days, to come this way
again--and to visit the Stanleys, and the Vedders, and the Minister, and
drop in and sell another pair of specs to the Road-worker. It seems to
me I have a wonderfully rosy future ahead of me!

P. S.--I have not yet found out who painted the curious signs; but I am
not as uneasy about it as I was. I have seen two more of them already
this morning--and find they exert quite a psychological influence.

CHAPTER VI. AN EXPERIMENT IN HUMAN NATURE

In the early morning after I left the husky road-mender (wearing his new
spectacles), I remained steadfastly on the Great Road or near it. It was
a prime spring day, just a little hazy, as though promising rain, but
soft and warm.

"They will be working in the garden at home," I thought, "and there will
be worlds of rhubarb and asparagus." Then I remembered how the morning
sunshine would look on the little vine-clad back porch (reaching halfway
up the weathered door) of my own house among the hills.

It was the first time since my pilgrimage began that I had thought with
any emotion of my farm--or of Harriet.

And then the road claimed me again, and I began to look out for some
further explanation of the curious sign, the single word "Rest," which
had interested me so keenly on the preceding day. It may seem absurd to
some who read these lines--some practical people!--but I cannot convey
the pleasure I had in the very elusiveness and mystery of the sign,
nor how I wished I might at the next turn come upon the poet himself. I
decided that no one but a poet could have contented himself with a lyric
in one word, un