CHAPTER V 



THE BANTAMS 



A MAN always wants a farm. He may have 

 everything else that mortal mind can imagine 

 to keep him busy, to maintain his interest, to 

 make him happy, but always in his most ecstatic dreams, 

 he sees himself as a farmer. Why this should be, no 

 mere woman can divine; but she learns its vital truth 

 as the years progress. The only real cure for this 

 aberration consists in acquiring that farm, sinking a 

 fortune in its upkeep, and going through the anxious 

 moments incidental to the various live stock with which 

 it may be furnished. I do not find that any amount 

 of money preserves the farmer from severe disappoint 

 ment at blasted crops or diseased cattle or eggless 

 chickens. I suppose it is the pride of man which dis 

 likes ridicule and shrinks from failure. 

 To my secret joy, no land available for farming pur- 



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