THE GROOMING OF THE FARM 91 



uncompromising newness of line and color. 

 Its ridgepole, its roof edges, its corners, look 

 as if they had been drawn with a ruler, where 

 those of the old barn were sketched freehand. 

 The barn and the sheds had settled into the 

 landscape, the carriage-house cut into it. 



Even Jonathan saw it. &quot; We 11 paint it the 

 old-fashioned red to make it more in keeping,&quot; 

 he said apologetically. 



But old-fashioned red is apparently not to 

 be had in new-fashioned cans. And the farm 

 remained implacable: it refused to digest the 

 carriage-house. I felt rather proud of the 

 farm for being so firm. 



The next blow was a heavy one. In the 

 middle of the cowyard there was a wonderful 

 gray rock, shoulder high, with a flat top and 

 three sides abrupt, the other sloping. I used 

 to sit on this rock and feed the hens and watch 

 the &quot;critters&quot; come into the yard at milking- 

 time. I like &quot;critters,&quot; but when there are 

 more than two or three in the yard, including 

 some irresponsible calves, I like to have some 

 vantage-point from which to view them 

 and be viewed. Our cattle are always gentle, 

 but some of them are, to use a colloquial word 



