204 My Neighbor's Wood-Shed 



bors happens to be present and sees it, there is 

 sure to be some idle remark about the butter- 

 fly being a sign of something. These plain 

 folk would have everything be nothing of 

 itself, but a sign of something else ; except, 

 of course, that their twaddle is a sign of 

 their own silliness. I was delighted one 

 winter morning to have the fool of the 

 neighborhood, its single downright idiot, put 

 in an appearance just as Farmer Hayfork 

 finished a long discourse on sure signs of an 

 open winter. We were all tired, for he was 

 one who measured his value by the length of 

 his speeches, and never thought of the nerves 

 of his hearers. " Had he been a preacher," 

 it was once remarked, " there would never 

 have been a congregation." The idiot ap- 

 peared in the nick of time. Hayfork had 

 just finished, when the fool blurted out, 

 " Folks can say what they blame please, but 

 you can't tell nothin' about nothin*." Every- 

 body laughed but Hayfork, who suddenly 

 remembered he had something to do. 



As it is my neighbor's wood-shed, I could 

 not keep these people away, and it was not 

 often that I found it available for meditation 

 or the excellent company that I occasionally 



