208 FARMING IT 



the thrashing of the long-time bully of the little 

 community, the clipping of the wings of the vil- 

 lage condor or bucolic harpy, that for years had 

 defied public opinion and outraged neighborly 

 good feeling, and whose name was used to ter- 

 rify refractory children into obedience. 



I was warned of this dragon when I bought the 

 farm. I was told that he had made trouble for all 

 his neighbors, was at his worst in litigation, 

 would provoke a saint to retaliation and then 

 prosecute him for it, and keep him on the gridiron 

 of suspense, attending court after court until he 

 wore him out; that, if he wanted anything, he 

 always got it, and that, if he once got down on a 

 man, he was his enemy for life ; that he was down 

 on me, why, I did not know. 



These warnings however had no great weight 

 with me. Indeed, they did not trouble me at all. 

 I had never had any trouble with the dragon and 

 saw no reason why I should have. 



I had come to the neighborhood with the hon- 

 est intention of being friendly and accommodat- 

 ing toward all my neighbors. I was genuinely 

 interested in the community. I expected to con- 

 tribute according to my means to any subscrip- 

 tion for neighborly interests; to subscribe my 

 name to any petition addressed to the author- 

 ities for the betterment of the local roads and 

 lawns, trees and sidewalks. 



