MY EXCUSE 5 
nate. Fate had set no wolf to howl at our 
door. 
In June we decided to take to the woods, or 
rather to the country, to see what it had in store 
for us. The more we thought of it, the better I 
liked the plan, and Polly was no less happy over 
it. We talked of it morning, noon, and night, 
and my half-smothered instinct grew by what it 
fed on. Countless schemes at length resolved 
themselves into a factory farm, which should be 
a source of pleasure as well as of income. It 
was of all sizes, shapes, industries, and limits of 
expenditure, as the hours passed and enthusiasm 
waxed or waned. I finally compromised on from 
two hundred to three hundred acres of land, with 
a total expenditure of not more than $60,000 
for the building of my factory. It was to pro- 
duce butter, eggs, pork, and apples, all of best 
quality, and they were to be sold at best prices. 
I discoursed at some length on farms and farmers 
to Polly, who slept through most of the harangue. 
She afterward said that she enjoyed it, but I never 
knew whether she referred to my lecture or to her 
nap. 
If farming be the art of elimination, I want it 
not. If the farmer and the farmer’s family must, 
by the nature of the occupation, be deprived of 
reasonable leisure and luxury, if the conveniences 
and amenities must be shorn close, if comfort 
must be denied and life be reduced to the ele- 
mental necessities of food and shelter, I want it 
