AN UNPROGRESSIVE FARM 17 



this seems natural and right, to others it is 

 often depressing; but Jonathan and I like it. 

 Our barnacle-clogged ship pleases us 

 pleases me because I love the slow, drifting 

 motion, pleases Jonathan because I regret 

 to admit it he thinks he can get all the 

 barnacles off and then ! 



For, whereas my unprogressiveness is ab 

 solute and unqualified, Jonathan s is, I have 

 discovered, tainted by a sneaking optimism, 

 an ineradicable desire and hope of improve 

 ment, which, though it does not blossom 

 rankly in pergolas and tea-houses, is none the 

 less there, a lurking menace. It inspired his 

 suggestion regarding pigs in the orchard, it 

 showed itself even more clearly in the matter 

 of the hens. 



I have always liked hens. I doubt if mine 

 are very profitable, the farm is not, in 

 general, a source of profit, and we cherish no 

 delusions about it, but I do not keep them 

 for pecuniary gain. If they chance to lay 

 eggs, so much the better; if they furnish forth 

 my table with succulent broilers, with nutri 

 tious roasters, with ambrosial chicken-pasties, 

 I am not unappreciative; but I realize that all 



