Robin Hood's Barn 



would be impossible to uproot it. You cannot 

 tell to what inconspicuous places it has reached. 

 It has forced itself indoors. Surely not its prov- 

 ince. "Ain't you got electric lights?" you find 

 yourself asked suddenly. And before you can 

 retort, he adds, "I got 'em in my cellar." Or it 

 may suddenly turn personal. As we lean upon 

 our hoes, his eye will fall upon my earth-caked 

 hands. Now he couldn't afford to have his hands 

 look like mine. His he must keep in condition. 

 So it is that when the noon hour comes and I 

 serve him dinner underneath the peach tree, I 

 spread before him the whole bounty of our larder. 

 Unobserved I dine on scraps. So far, at least, 

 I have not learned what he would have had at 

 home. 



Is it any wonder that when I am so craven 

 under condescension, the garden should be struck 

 as by a blight. Christian Scientists, they tell me, 

 by holding the thought of infinite affluence may 

 add to their estate. May not these men by an 

 inverse process be devastating mine. Infinite 

 poverty! They would express it differently, but 

 that they hold the thought is evident in every 

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