ALONG A COUNTRY ROAD 



ported by two posts to hitch teams to. Far 

 away on the hills and in the woods are lone 

 souls to whom this dingy spot is Mecca, and 

 hither, and especially on Saturdays, they set 

 their faces in hopeful pilgrimage. Through 

 dusty lengths of uneventful miles they come 

 to test the fiat of fate to see if somewhere 

 a hand has reached out to open the door of 

 solitude. Among these seekers are the aris- 

 tocrats of the post-office who have their own 

 boxes, to which boxes the country weekly 

 comes. 



In the wheat- and oat-fields all day the 

 lights and shadows run riot. Ever since the 

 gray veil of morning was brushed aside, 

 and 



" A light wind blew from the gates of the sun 

 And waves of shadow went over the wheat, " 



have these alternating cloud-woven pictures 

 flashed and faded. All day, while the chip- 

 ping sparrow sings in fence-corners and 

 clumps of hedge, and rattling wheels stir up 

 powdery dust, does this panorama of the 

 winds and clouds pass on. The quail's clear 

 whistle echoes gallantly from posts or top- 



