CHAPTER XIV 



THE SECOND BEST 



WHEN the world is glorious with the harvest; 

 when the flowering corn is straight and tall ; 

 when the freshly-cut grain fields glisten in 

 the sun, and the emerald of the new alfalfa awaits the 

 greedy herd ; when the woods are deep, still, and mys 

 terious; when the swamps are gorgeous with purple 

 ironweed and yellow sneezeweed, with dull white 

 thoroughwort and blue lobelia, with starry spurge and 

 the fragrant milkweed rising from among the cat-tail 

 leaves; when the sun rises in the rosy glow of Egypt 

 and sets under rich masses of illumined clouds; when 

 the August skies glitter with untold millions of bright 

 stars or flash in pyrotechnics inconceivable, is this the 

 time to think of anything as second best? 



But what about the human being at this lavish feast 

 of beauty? Is the farmer sitting through the long days 

 in Buddhistic contemplation, saturating his soul with 



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