16 MY VINEYARD. 



One pleasant September afternoon, I found myself in a 

 small village in Northern Ohio, waiting until the next 

 morning for a conveyance to take me to some relatives 

 Avho were living a few miles away. Rather liking the ap- 

 pearance of the country, I asked the landlord if any farms 

 were for sale in the vicinity. 



" How large a farm do you want ?" 



" Only a small one of about forty acres." 



" Wall, there's plenty of farms for sale, but you don't 

 find many of that size. Guess Smith down "on the shore 

 has one that'll about suit you." 



So I obtained the requisite directions for finding Smith, 

 down on the shore, and set out to find him. A mile walk 

 brought me to a place answering to the description. 



I was fortunate in finding Mr. Smith at home. 



" Walk in, stranger, and have a chair," was the not in- 

 hospitable salutation. 



" I don't wish to make a long stop. I only came to 

 look at your place, as I understand you want to sell?" 



" I reckon I wouldn't refuse if I could get my price. 

 Where might you hail from, stranger ?" 



" Connecticut." 



" Wall, I came from Southern Injanny." 



" How long have you been here ?" 



" A right smart spell — going on nigh two years." 



" Don't you like the country ?" 



