CHAPTER XII 



THE COUNTRY IN WINTER 



TO most of us swept along in the mad rush of 

 city life the idea of the country in winter comes 

 as an impossibility, unless presented under the 

 guise of a large house party up for a week of sport. It 

 seems to indicate a certain queerness, this desire to go 

 up to a forlorn house in January, sometimes alone. 



"What in the world do you do with yourself?" ask 

 my inquisitive friends. "You certainly can't work in 

 the garden at this time of the year. Are n't the 

 days awfully long? Confess, don't you get lonesome?" 

 Some of them even add, "Are n't you afraid?" 



I wonder if it is the contrariness of human nature 

 that makes another's lot in life look so much more at 

 tractive than one's own. Or is it the mere fact that 

 one can have all the diversions incidental to a gay so 

 cial life that makes the peace of the country so desir 

 able. I cannot tell, I have given up guessing, I merely 

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