Robin Hood's Barn 



them, moreover, as mere implements to turn the 

 soil. Certainly I do not hire them as advisers, 

 as scientific producers of crops, and least of all 

 as critics. Yet let them set a foot upon my place. 

 What a swift glance of appraisal they cast! 

 What a look of contented rivalry! The most 

 that they can hope to accomplish for my garden 

 is to make it approach a little distantly, the patri- 

 otic vision that shines forth so jubilantly from 

 their eyes. 



To see them you might not believe me. There 

 is Healey, the flagman. All day he slumbers 

 by the station, his chair tilted in the sunlight, his 

 cap drawn down over his purple cheeks and heavy 

 jowl. His insignia of office droops in one lax 

 hand. Even when he trundles to the track his 

 red flag is only half imfurled. Yet somewhere 

 under his slouching figure there are muscles that 

 are firm with hoeing. His rovmding shirt-front 

 has been double creased in a stiff fight with 

 weeds. I know — ^if at least there be any justice ; 

 for I ache in every limb, and Healey's tomatoes 

 have begun to flower while mine are but a single 

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