A Farmer’s Life 
three or four such jaunts I had with him were too 
many by three or four. Wayfarers smiled too 
openly. 
The injury to one’s pride was not the worst of 
it. If it was painful it was at least funny to be 
in such an undignified plight. But in faé it 
was a nervous business, cause of much anxiety, 
to travel on the road in a cart with Mr. Smith 
for driver. It may have been the pony’s fault 
that, invariably, after proceeding a few yards, 
we found ourselves definitely on the wrong side 
of the road and stuck to it. Stuck to it, until 
something had to be met, or until some quicker 
vehicle—motor-car of late years—compelled us 
to strive to recover our proper side of the road 
in time. But no sooner was the need past than 
the wrong side was regained. Yes, it may have 
been the pony’s fault; but the time came when 
I began to feel that my uncle’s perversity was the 
chief cause of this persistent straying. For it 
is more than likely that he resented being incom- 
moded on a public road by gentry in a hurry, 
and most of all by motor-cars. In a sort of 
ineffectual protest he deliberately took the wrong 
side. At least he might cause the well-to-do to 
feel that they were rather a nuisance. 
If that were so (it is only a surmise; he never 
hinted at it) his stubbornness was but one more 
symptom, amongst others growing daily plainer, 
IIO 
