286 HAPPY HOLLOW FARM 



from our garden and vineyard, from our pas- 

 tures and dairy-barn and hen yards for our 

 own table, we'd have to pay $1,000 or $1,200 a 

 year for it. It comes so easily and so naturally, 

 just when we want it, a basketful or a pailful 

 or an armful, that we're very apt to overlook 

 its value; but it amounts to a good snug sum 

 in the course of a year. Besides, there's always 

 a surplus. Some of this surplus we sell. 

 Maybe if we were as thrifty as we ought to be 

 we'd sell it all. But it's a pleasure to have 

 some of it to give away, to be able to send a 

 basket of asparagus or grapes, or a roll of 

 sweet butter, or a side of sugar-cured bacon 

 to somebody we've taken a shine to. We can't 

 keep track of that, because it has no equivalent 

 in coin. It won't do to call that a mere in- 

 dulgence. Friendship isn't a luxury; it's a 

 necessity. We had no such way of showing 

 friendliness when we lived in town. If you're 

 able to write that out in figures, you have me 

 beaten. 



However you compute it, with every charge 

 made against it that the greatest stickler of an 

 accountant could devise, the cost of doing all 

 this is so little that it's never felt. The return 

 is great. There is just no chance for a dispute 



