44 CHRONICLES OF A CLAY FARM. 



" After the ridges had been twice cast ! " Why, 

 those seven words that lie so smooth on paper, 

 cost me three times seven months of single-handed 

 fighting against the " Experience " of a whole 

 neighborhood. I^o hawk in a rookery ever got 

 better beleaguered. " One down t'other come on ! " 

 was the one perpetual motto of the tongue-task 

 that awaited me fresh, and fresh, on every side, 

 whichever way I turned. My own working-bailiff 

 (et Tu Brute!} headed the attack within the 

 camp the traitor ! while a neighboring clergyman 

 led on the foe from without, evidently viewing 

 the heresy in a serious light, and myself as a fit 

 subject for an auto da fe. The conclusion of our 

 last skirmish was too good to be lost to posterity. 

 I entered it verbatim in my farm memoranda. 

 Here it is. 



" But tell me in earnest. Do n't you mean to ridge 

 up that field again?" 



"What, you mean to lay it FLAT?" 

 "Yes!" 



"In the name of Goodness! "Why?" 

 " Because THE NAME OF GOODNESS made it so ! " 

 If I had suddenly assumed some demoniacal form, 

 and then, leaving a train of smoke and brimstone, 



