THE COUNTRY ROAD 117 



But in the country there is just the Road. 

 Recoil from it? One s heart goes out to it. 

 The road is a part of home, the part that 

 reaches out to our friends and draws them to 

 us or brings us to them. It is our outdoor 

 clubhouse, it is the avenue of the Expected 

 and the Unexpected, it is the Home Road. 



In a sense it does no more for us, and in 

 some ways much less, than our city streets do. 

 Along these, too, our tradesmen s carts come 

 to our doors, along these our friends must fare 

 as they arrive or depart; we seek the streets 

 at our outgoings and our incomings. But they 

 are, after all, strictly a means. We use them, 

 but when we enter our homes we forget them, 

 or try to. Our individual share in the street 

 is not large. So much goes on and goes by 

 that has only the most general bearing on our 

 interests that we cease to give it our attention 

 at all. It is not good form to watch the street, 

 because it is not worth while. When children s 

 voices fly in at our windows, we assume that 

 they are other people s children, and they 

 usually are. When we hear teams, we expect 

 them to go by, and they usually do. When we 

 hear a cab door slam, we take it for granted 



