I found instantly that the invasion
of the automobile was a matter of tremendous import to such Knights of
Bucephalus as these.

At first the wit interrupted me with amusing remarks, as wits will, but
I soon had him as quiet as the others. For I have found the things that
chiefly interest people are the things they already know about--provided
you show them that these common things are still mysterious, still
miraculous, as indeed they are.

After a time some one pushed me a stable stool and I sat down among
them, and we had quite a conversation, which finally developed into an
amusing comparison (I wish I had room to repeat it here) between the
city and the country. I told them something about my farm, how much I
enjoyed it, and what a wonderful free life one had in the country. In
this I was really taking an unfair advantage of them, for I was trading
on the fact that every man, down deep in his heart, has more or less of
an instinct to get back to the soil--at least all outdoor men have. And
when I described the simplest things about my barn, and the cattle and
pigs, and the bees--and the good things we have to eat--I had every one
of them leaning forward and hanging on my words.

Harriet sometimes laughs at me for the way I celebrate farm life.
She says all my apples are the size of Hubbard squashes, my eggs all
double-yolked, and my cornfields tropical jungles. Practical Harriet! My
apples may not ALL be the size of Hubbard squashes, but they are good,
sizable apples, and as for flavour--all the spices of Arcady--! And I
believe, I KNOW, from my own experience that these fields and hills are
capable of healing men's souls. And when I see people wandering around
a lonesome city like Kilburn, with never a soft bit of soil to put their
heels into, nor a green thing to cultivate, nor any corn or apples or
honey to harvest, I feel--well, that they are wasting their time.

(It's a fact, Harriet!)

Indeed I had the most curious experience with my friend the wit--his
name I soon learned was Healy--a jolly, round, red-nosed, outdoor chap
with fists that looked like small-sized hams, and a rich, warm Irish
voice. At first he was inclined to use me as the ready butt of his
lively mind, but presently he became so much interested in what I was
saying that he sat squarely in front of me with both his jolly eyes and
his smiling mouth wide open.

"If ever you pass my way," I said to him, "just drop in and I'll give
you a