THE GROOMING OF THE FARM 95 



bones, all its bushes and vines clematis, 

 elderberry, wild cherry, sweet-fern, bitter 

 sweet all cut, hacked, torn away. It looked 

 like a collie dog in the summer when his long 

 yellow fur has been sheared off. And, another 

 day, it was a company of red lilies escaped 

 along a bank above the roadside. There 

 were weeds mixed in, to be sure, and some 

 bushes, a delightful tangle and all snipped, 

 shaved to the skin ! 



When I spoke about it, Jonathan said: 

 &quot;I m sorry. I suppose Hiram was just mak 

 ing the place shipshape.&quot; 



&quot;Shipshape! This farm shipshape! You 

 could no more make this farm shipshape than 

 you could make a woodchuck look as though 

 he had been groomed. The farm is n t a ship.&quot; 



&quot;I hope it is n t a woodchuck, either,&quot; said 

 Jonathan. 



During the haying season there was always 

 a lull. The hand of the destroyer was stayed. 

 Rather, every one was so busy cutting the hay 

 that there was no time to cut anything else. 

 One day in early August I took a pail and 

 sauntered up the lane in the peaceful mood of 

 the berry-picker a state of mind as satis- 



