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it is Tom o' the blueb'ry plains。
He is more than common tall； with a sandy beard；
and a mop of tangled hair straggling beneath his torn straw hat。
A square of wet calico drips from under the back of the hat。
His gingham shirt is open at the throat； showing his tanned neck
and chest。 Warm as it is； he wears portions of at least three coats
on his back。 His high boots； split in foot and leg； are mended
and spliced and laced and tied on with bits of shingle rope。
He carries a small tin pail of molasses。 It has a bail of rope；
and a battered cover with a knob of sticky newspaper。
Over one shoulder； suspended on a crooked branch； hangs a
bundle of basket stuff；split willow withes and the like；
over the other swings a decrepit； bottomless； three…legged chair。
I call him the master of the plains； but in faith he had no legal
claim to the title。 If he owned a habitation or had established a home
on any spot in the universe； it was because no man envied him what he took；
for Tom was one of God's fools； a foot…loose pilgrim in this world
of ours； a poor addle…pated； simple…minded； harmless creature；
in village parlance； a 〃softy。〃
Mother or father； sister or brother； he had none； nor ever had；
so far as any one knew； but how should people who had to work from sun…up
to candlelight to get the better of the climate have leisure to discover
whether or no Blueb'ry Tom had any kin？
At some period in an almost forgotten past there
had been a house on Tom's particular patch of the plains。
It had long since tumbled into ruins and served for fire…wood
and even the chimney bricks had disappeared one by one；
as the monotonous seasons came and went。
Tom had settled himself in an old tool…shop； corn…house； or rude
out…building of some sort that had belonged to the ruined cottage。
Here he had set up his house…hold gods； and since no one else
had ever wanted a home in this dreary tangle of berry bushes；
where the only shade came from stunted pines that flung shriveled
arms to the sky and dropped dead cones to the sterile earth；
here he remained unmolested。
In the lower part of the hut he kept his basket stuff
and his collection of two…legged and three…legged chairs。
In the course of evolution they never sprouted another leg；
those chairs； as they were given to him； so they remained。
The upper floor served for his living…room； and was reached
by a ladder from the ground； for there was no stairway inside。
No one had ever been in the little upper chamber。
When a passer…by chanced to be…think him that Tom's
hermitage was close at hand； he sometimes turned in his
team by a certain clump of white birches and drove nearer
to the house； intending to remind Tom that there was a chair
to willow…bottom the next time he came to the village。
But at the noise of the wheels Tom drew in his ladder；
and when the visitor alighted and came within sight；
it was to find the inhospitable host standing in the opening
of the second…story window； a quaint figure framed
in green branches； the ladder behind him； and on his face
a kind of impenetrable dignity； as he shook his head and said；
〃Tom ain't ter hum； Tom's gone to Bonny Eagle。〃
There was something impressive about his way of repelling callers；
it was as effectual as a door slammed in the face； and yet there
was a sort of mendacious courtesy about it。 No one ever cared
to go further； and indeed there was no mystery to tempt the curious；
and no spoil to attract the mischievous or the malicious。
Any one could see； without entering； the straw bed in the far corner；
the beams piled deep with red and white oak acorns； the strings
of dried apples and bunches of everlastings hanging from the rafters；
and the half…finished baskets filled with blown bird's…eggs；
pine cones； and pebbles。
No home in the village was better loved than Tom's
retreat in the blueberry plains。 Whenever he approached it；
after a long day's tramp； when he caught the first sight
of the white birches that marked the gateway to his estate
and showed him where to turn off the public road into his own
private grounds； he smiled a broader smile than usual；
and broke into his well…known song：
〃I'd much d'ruth…er walk in the bloom…in' gy…ar…ding；
An' hear the whis…sle of the jol…ly
swain。〃
Poor Tom could never catch the last note。 He had sung
the song for more than forty years； but the memory of this
tone was so blurred； and his cherished ideal of it so high
（or so low； rather）； that he never managed to reach it。
Oh； if only summer were eternal！ Who could wish a better
supper than ripe berries and molasses？ Nor was there need
of sleeping under roof nor of lighting candles to grope his way
to pallet of straw； when he might have the blue vault of heaven
arching over him； and all God's stars for lamps； and for a bed
a horse blanket stretched over an elastic couch of pine needles。
There were two gaunt pines that had been dropping their polished
spills for centuries； perhaps silently adding； year by year；
another layer of aromatic springiness to poor Tom's bed。
Flinging his tired body on this grateful couch； burying his head
in the crushed sweet fern of his pillow with one deep…drawn
sigh of pleasure；there； haunted by no past and harassed
by no future； slept God's fool as sweetly as a child。
Yes； if only summer were eternal； and youth as well！
But when the blueberries had ripened summer after summer；
and the gaunt pine…trees had gone on for many years weaving poor
Tom's mattress； there came a change in the aspect of things。
He still made his way to the village； seeking chairs to mend；
but he was even more unkempt than of old； his tall figure was bent；
and his fingers trembled as he wove the willow strands in and out；
and over and under。
There was little work to do； moreover； for the village had altogether
retired from business； and was no longer in competition with its neighbors：
the dam was torn away； the sawmills were pulled down； husbands and fathers
were laid in the churchyard； sons and brothers and lovers had gone West； and
mothers and widows and spinsters stayed on； each in her quiet house alone。
〃'T ain't no hardship when you get used to it；〃 said the Widow Buzzell。
〃Land sakes！ a lantern 's 's good 's a man any time； if you only think so；
'n' 't ain't half so much trouble to keep it filled up！〃
But Tom still sold a basket occasionally； and the children
always gathered about him for the sake of hearing him repeat
his well…worn formula；Tom allers puts two handles on baskets：
one to take 'em up by； one to set 'em down by。〃
This was said with a beaming smile and a wise shake of the head；
as if he were announcing a great discovery to an expectant world。
And then he would lay down his burden of basket stuff；
and； sitting under an apple…tree in somebody's side yard；
begin his task of willow…bottoming an old chair。 It was a pretty
sight enough； if one could keep back the tears；the kindly；
simple fellow with the circle of children about his knees。
Never a village fool without a troop of babies at his heels。
They love him； too； till we teach them to mock。
When he was younger； he would sing；
〃Rock…a…by； baby； on the treetop；〃
and dance the while； swinging his unfinished basket to and fro for a cradle。
He was too stiff in the joints for dancing nowadays； but he still sang
the 〃bloomin' gy…ar…ding〃 when ever they asked him； particularly if
some apple…cheeked little maid would say； 〃Please； Tom！〃
He always laughed then； and； patting the child's hand； said； 〃Pooty gal；
got eyes！〃 The youngsters dance with glee at this meaningless phrase；
just as their mothers had danced years before when it was said to them。
Summer waned。 In the moist places the gentian uncurled
its blue fringes； purple asters and gay Joe Pye waved their
colors by the roadside； tall primroses put their yellow
bonnets on； and peeped over the brooks to see themselves；
and the dusty pods of the milkweed were bursting with
their silky fluffs； the spinning of the long summer。
Autumn began to paint the maples red and the elms yellow；
for the early days of September brought a frost。
Some one remarked at the village store that old Blueb'ry Tom
must not be suffered to stay on the plains another winter；
now that he was getting so feeble；not if the 〃_se_leckmen〃 had
to root him out and take him to the poor…farm。 He would surely
starve or freeze； and his death would be laid at their door。
Tom was interviewed。 Persuasion； logic； sharp words； all failed
to move him one jot or tittle。 He stood in his castle door；
with the ladder behind him； smiling； always smiling
（none but the fool smiles always； nor always weeps）； and saying
to all visitors； 〃Tom ain't ter hum； Tom's gone to Bonny Eagle；
Tom don' want to go to the poor…farm。〃
November came in surly。
The cheerful stir and bustle o