f the Street. And it was good to think of them all living
around me, not so very far away, connected with me through darkness and
space by a certain mysterious human cord. Most of all I love that which
I cannot see beyond the hill.

"Harriet," I said aloud, "it grows more wonderful every year how full
the world is of friendly people!"

So I got up quickly and came in here to my room, and taking a fresh
sheet of paper I wrote down the title of my new book:

"The Friendly Road."

I invite you to travel with me upon this friendly road. You may find,
as I did, something which will cause you for a time, to forget yourself
into contentment. But if you chance to be a truly serious person, put
down my book. Let nothing stay your hurried steps, nor keep you from
your way.

As for those of us who remain, we will loiter as much as ever we please.
We'll take toll of these spring days, we'll stop wherever evening
overtakes us, we'll eat the food of hospitality--and make friends for
life!

DAVID GRAYSON.

CONTENTS

Preface

I. I Leave My Farm

II. I Whistle

III. The House by the Side of the Road

IV. I Am the Spectator of a Mighty Battle, in which Christian
Meets Apollyon

V. I Play the Part of a Spectacle Peddler

VI. An Experiment in Human Nature

VII. The Undiscovered Country

VIII. The Hedge

IX. The Man Possessed

X. I Am Caught Up Into Life

XI. I Come to Grapple with the City

XII. The Return

CHAPTER I. I LEAVE MY FARM

"Is it so small a thing
To have enjoyed the sun,
To have lived light in spring?"

It is eight o'clock of a sunny spring morning. I have been on the road
for almost three hours. At five I left the town of Holt, before six I
had crossed the railroad at a place called Martin's Landing, and an hour
ago, at seven, I could see in the distance the spires of Nortontown. And
all the morning as I came tramping along the fine country roads with my
pack-strap resting warmly on my shoulder, and a song in my throat--just
nameless words to a nameless tune--and all the birds singing, and all
the brooks bright under their little bridges, I knew that I must soon
step aside and put down, if I could, some faint impression of the
feeling of this time and place. I cannot hope to convey any adequate
sense of it all--of the feeling of lightness, strength, clearness, I
have as I sit here under this maple tree