IX 



The Country Road 



ON a June day, years ago, I was walking 

 along our country road. At the top of a steep 

 little hill I paused to rest and let my eyes lux 

 uriate in the billowing greens and tender blues 

 of the valley below. While I stood there my 

 neighbor came slowly up from the garden, 

 her apron over her head, a basket of green 

 peas on her arm. 



&quot;What a view you have up here on your 

 hill!&quot; I said. 



She drew back her apron and turned to look 

 off. &quot;Yes,&quot; she said indulgently; &quot;ye-e-s.&quot; 

 Then her face brightened and she turned to 

 me with real animation: &quot;But it s better in 

 winter when the leaves is off, V you c n see 

 the passin on the lower road.&quot; 



Fresh from the city as I was, with all its 

 prejudices and intolerance upon me, I was 

 partly amused, partly irritated, by her answer. 

 So all this glory of greenness, all this wonder of 



