THE COUNTRY ROAD 121 



Before I had finished, Jonathan was grin 

 ning delightedly. &quot;Suppose we shake these 

 city ways,&quot; he said. He deliberately got up, 

 raised the shades, pushed back a curtain, and 

 moved a jug of goldenrod. &quot;There! Can you 

 see better now?&quot; he asked. 



And I said cheerfully, &quot;Yes, quite a good 

 deal better. And after this, Jonathan, when 

 you hear a team coming, why don t you stop 

 carving till it goes by?&quot; 



&quot;I will,&quot; said Jonathan. 



It was our final capitulation, and since 

 then we have been much more comfortable. 

 We run to the window whenever we feel in 

 clined, and we leave our shades up at dusk 

 without apology or circumlocution. We are 

 coming to know our neighbors teams by 

 their sound, and we are proud of it. Why, in 

 deed, should we be ashamed of this human 

 interest? Why should we be elated that we 

 can recognize a bluebird by his flight, and 

 ashamed of knowing our neighbor s old bay 

 by his gait? Why should we boast of our 

 power to recognize the least murmur of the 

 deceptive grosbeak, and not take pride in 

 being able to &quot;spot&quot; Bill Smith s team by the 



