instance, used to be
pretty bad, before Henderson came--that's the preacher whose place I
took. It was pulling away from the church; now it draws to the church.
Henderson started that. The people who are my main dependence in the
other affairs are mostly the same people I can count on in the Sunday
school and League and the preaching service. The more we do the better
it is for what we do Sundays."

"Then, there's another Because these people and I know one another so
well, I couldn't put on airs in the pulpit if I wanted to. I've just got
to preach straight, and I won't preach a thing I can't back up myself. I
use country illustrations; show them their own world. It's one big white
mark for the Farwell farm, as you might suppose, that I know the best
side of country life, though I don't advertise your real estate."

"I know," said J.W. "But don't you find country people pretty hard to
manage? That's our experience at the store. They are particular and
critical, and think they know just what they want."

"They do too," Marty asserted, "Why shouldn't they? I believe I can tell
you one big difference between the city boy and the country. You've been
both; see if I'm right. The country boy minds his folks, and his
teacher. But everything else minds him. He is boss of every critter on
the place, from the hens to the horses, whenever he has anything to do
with them at all. So he learns to think for them, as well as for
himself. In the city the boy has no chance to give orders--he's under
orders, all the time; the traffic cop, the truant officer, the boss in
the shop or the office, the street car conductor, the janitor--everybody
bosses him and he bosses nothing, except his kid brothers and sisters.
So he may come to be half cringer and half bully. The country boy is not
likely to be much afraid, and he soon learns that if he tries to boss
even the boys without good reason it doesn't pay. Maybe that's the
reason so many country boys make good when they go to the city."

"And the reason why a city boy like me," suggested J.W., "would be a
misfit in the country."

"Oh, you," scoffed Marty. "You don't count. You're a half-breed. But, as
I meant to say, you're right about country folks. They are a little
close, maybe. They are more independent in their business than town
people, but they learn how to work together; they exchange farm work,
and work the roads, and they are fairly dependent on one another for all
social life.