206 
the players! In the excitement of the game 
you forgot how hungry the strenuous morn- 
ing had made you. 
It was worth the trip (at least, so it seemed 
after the long drive and few hours of sight- 
seeing) just to enjoy the “grub” which the 
women folks had prepared and brought 
along for the occasion. Seated in little 
groups on vacant spaces around the fair 
buildings, the farmer people lunched and 
swapped gossip and praise of the things they 
had seen. 
“Did you see that there big punkin, 
Mary?” asked some one. 
“Say, John, what d’ye think o’ that bay 
colt?” piped out the Head of the House. 
“T reckon there’ll be another weddin’ in 
the Workman family ’fore long,” interjected 
your neighbor, pointing to a young couple 
over the way. 
And so it went. Every one for the time 
being forgot the grinding drudgery of farm 
work in the enjoyment of that dinner out of 
doors. When you look back, it seems the 
best ever, doesn’t it ? For, after all, it was the 
few hours of gaiety out of weeks of toil that 
lent the mealtime its real charm. 
After dinner there were the races to see. 
They were wonders, too. What a motley 
crowd gathered to view them; a vastly dif- 
* RECREATION 
ferent crowd from that which packs Graves- 
end at the Suburban. Yet for the men it 
was the crowning glory of a glorious day. 
To many a race on a regular course was an 
unusual sight, though, of course, every fellow 
knew what it meant on a level stretch of 
country road, if some one tried to “run 
around” another. “Which colt will you 
have?” your father may have asked you. 
Was there ever more stinging irony to bear 
than that ? 
Who can forget the red-haired girl with 
the yellow shoes and shrill voice? Who can 
forget the chip-of-the-old-block, with the 
buggy whip fora cane? Who can forget the 
tired but happy mothers with their sun- 
burned, howling babies? With what digni- 
fied gait the old “ hayseeders” tramped from 
place to place. A sight for the gods, you say 
now. 
A little golden-haired tot comes smiling 
back tomeas I write. Ah, I would go miles 
to see those unfathomable brown eyes again 
and hear her merry prattle about the things 
she saw at the fair. Dear little innocent 
country child, can you conjure her back 
once more? 
So, too, perhaps, your own thoughts 
drifted back, as you rested in some quiet 
corner, meditative and watching the moy- 

it was the few hours of gaiety out of weeks of toil that lent the mealtime its real charm 
