(Brass is Green 



open it again, and plant an oak by it; but my 

 matter-of-fact companion looked with scorn as I 

 timidly made the suggestion : " Make another 

 frog-pond, do; just to add to the noise that we 

 have now, every night." 



Alas ! I fear that poetry and farming were not 

 intended to go hand in hand ; but I had my way 

 in a measure, and under pretense of cleaning the 

 drain dug down a bit, and found a little flat white 

 stone that I am sure was just in front, and over 

 which the cool waters trickled. 



" Don't you see foot-prints on it ? " I was asked. 

 " And don't it smell of wet leather ? " 



" They went barefoot in those days, except the 

 men," I ventured to remark. 



" And they did n't go crazy over nothing, why 

 don't you add ? " 



The under drain still does duty as such, and I 

 am content now to fancy that the fox-grape vine 

 that grows by the brookside was once on a trellis, 

 near the one-time cottage door, but this I kept to 

 myself; for if I spoke of the clusters of fruit now 

 clinging to it I would be sent in course of time to 

 pick it for jelly. Better leave this to younger folk, 

 and I will gather fruit from my neighbors, of 

 which they know nothing, for every farm has bits 

 of history that I love to bring to light, and then 

 as local historian one gets a mite of importance 

 in the eyes of others that tickles man's besetting 

 sin, vanity. 



142 



