10 HAPPY HOLLOW FARM 



stories. There was no harsh or bitter fact in 

 our lives that drove us to farming as a last 

 hope. I hadn't lost my job in town. I wasn't 

 facing a nervous breakdown after long years 

 of faithful service of an inhuman employer. 

 We hadn't been worn to desperation trying to 

 make both ends meet. Nothing like that. The 

 plain, unromantic facts were that no man could 

 have desired a kinder, better tempered, more 

 considerate boss than I had. I was my own 

 boss. For a long time I'd been making a 

 pretty fair-to-middling living for my family, 

 writing stuff for the magazines. Income was 

 growing better and better as the years passed. 

 We were getting our full share of the enjoy- 

 ment of books and music and the rest of life's 

 refinements. We were seeing something of the 

 world between whiles ; we were making friends 

 worth having; we were steadily widening our 

 circle and getting good out of every minute of 

 it. Besides, we were getting ahead a little. As 

 for the health part of it, there wasn't a doctor 

 of our acquaintance whom I couldn't have 

 worn to a wilted wreck in a day's cross-country 

 hike or a long pull at the oars. 



I'm telling you this so frankly, not by way 

 of bragging, but just to let you know that it 



