The Friendly Road [31]
it was--but I spent the night in his little home, close at the side of the road near the foot of a fine hill. And from time to time all night long, it seemed to me, I could hear the rush of cars going by in the smooth road outside, and sometimes their lights flashed in at my window, and sometimes I heard them sound their brassy horns.
I wish I could 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, unless it might have been a humourist, to whom sometimes a single small word. is more blessed than all the verbal riches of Webster himself. For it is nothing short of genius that uses one word when twenty will say the same thing!
Or, would he, after all, turn out to be only a more than ordinarily alluring advertiser? I confess my heart went into my throat that morning, when I first saw the sign, lest it read:
[ RESTaurant 2 miles east ]
nor should I have been surprised if it had.
I caught a vicarious glimpse of the sign-man to-day, through the eyes of a young farmer. Yes, he s'posed he'd seen him, he said; wore a slouch hat, couldn't tell whether he was young or old. Drove into the bushes (just down there beyond the brook) and, standin' on the seat of his buggy, nailed something to a tree. A day or two later--the dull wonder of mankind!--the young farmer, passing that way to town, had seen the odd sign "Rest" on the tree: he s'posed the fellow put it there.
"What does it mean?"
"Well, naow, I hadn't thought," said the young farmer.
"Did the fellow by any chance have long hair?"
"Well, naow, I didn't notice," said he.
"Are you sure he wore a slouch hat?"
"Ye-es--or it may a-been straw," replied the observant young farmer.
I wish I could 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, unless it might have been a humourist, to whom sometimes a single small word. is more blessed than all the verbal riches of Webster himself. For it is nothing short of genius that uses one word when twenty will say the same thing!
Or, would he, after all, turn out to be only a more than ordinarily alluring advertiser? I confess my heart went into my throat that morning, when I first saw the sign, lest it read:
[ RESTaurant 2 miles east ]
nor should I have been surprised if it had.
I caught a vicarious glimpse of the sign-man to-day, through the eyes of a young farmer. Yes, he s'posed he'd seen him, he said; wore a slouch hat, couldn't tell whether he was young or old. Drove into the bushes (just down there beyond the brook) and, standin' on the seat of his buggy, nailed something to a tree. A day or two later--the dull wonder of mankind!--the young farmer, passing that way to town, had seen the odd sign "Rest" on the tree: he s'posed the fellow put it there.
"What does it mean?"
"Well, naow, I hadn't thought," said the young farmer.
"Did the fellow by any chance have long hair?"
"Well, naow, I didn't notice," said he.
"Are you sure he wore a slouch hat?"
"Ye-es--or it may a-been straw," replied the observant young farmer.