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THE FRIENDLY ROAD
THE FRIENDLY ROAD
by DOUBLEDAY； PAGE & COMPANY
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THE FRIENDLY ROAD
A WORD TO HIM WHO OPENS
THIS BOOK
I did not plan when I began writing these chapters to make an entire
book； but only to put down the more or less unusual impressions； the
events and adventures； of certain quiet pilgrimages in country roads。 But
when I had written down all of these things； I found I had material in
plenty。
〃What shall I call it now that I have written it？〃 I asked myself。
At first I thought I should call it 〃Adventures on the Road；〃 or 〃The
Country Road；〃 or something equally simple； for I would not have the title
arouse any appetite which the book itself could not satisfy。 One pleasant
evening I was sitting on my porch with my dog sleeping near me； and
Harriet not far away rocking and sewing； and as I looked out across the
quiet fields I could see in the distance a curving bit of the town road。 I
could see the valley below it and the green hill beyond； and my mind went
out swiftly along the country road which I had so recently travelled on
foot； and I thought with deep satisfaction of all the people I had met on my
pilgrimagesthe Country Minister with his problems； the buoyant
Stanleys； Bill Hahn the Socialist； the Vedders in their garden； the Brush
Peddler。 I thought of the Wonderful City； and of how for a time I had been
caught up into its life。 I thought of the men I met at the livery stable；
especially Healy； the wit； and of that strange Girl of the Street。 And it was
good to think of them all living around me； not so very far away；
connected with me through darkness and space by a certain mysterious
human cord。 Most of all I love that which I cannot see beyond the hill。
〃Harriet；〃 I said aloud； 〃it grows more wonderful every year how full
the world is of friendly people！〃
So I got up quickly and came in here to my room； and taking a fresh
sheet of paper I wrote down the title of my new book：
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THE FRIENDLY ROAD
〃The Friendly Road。〃
I invite you to travel with me upon this friendly road。 You may find； as
I did； something which will cause you for a time； to forget yourself into
contentment。 But if you chance to be a truly serious person； put down my
book。 Let nothing stay your hurried steps； nor keep you from your way。
As for those of us who remain； we will loiter as much as ever we
please。 We'll take toll of these spring days； we'll stop wherever evening
overtakes us； we'll eat the food of hospitalityand make friends for life！
DAVID GRAYSON。
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CHAPTER I。 I LEAVE MY FARM
〃Is it so small a thing To have enjoyed the sun； To have lived light in
spring？〃
It is eight o'clock of a sunny spring morning。 I have been on the road
for almost three hours。 At five I left the town of Holt； before six I had
crossed the railroad at a place called Martin's Landing； and an hour ago； at
seven； I could see in the distance the spires of Nortontown。 And all the
morning as I came tramping along the fine country roads with my pack…
strap resting warmly on my shoulder； and a song in my throatjust
nameless words to a nameless tuneand all the birds singing； and all the
brooks bright under their little bridges； I knew that I must soon step aside
and put down； if I could； some faint impression of the feeling of this time
and place。 I cannot hope to convey any adequate sense of it allof the
feeling of lightness； strength； clearness； I have as I sit here under this
maple treebut I am going to write as long as ever I am happy at it； and
when I am no longer happy at it； why； here at my very hand lies the
pleasant country road； stretching away toward newer hills and richer
scenes。
Until to…day I have not really been quite clear in my own mind as to
the step I have taken。 My sober friend； have you ever tried to do anything
that the world at large considers not quite sensible； not quite sane？ Try it！
It is easier to commit a thundering crime。 A friend of mine delights in
walking to town bareheaded； and I fully believe the neighbourhood is
more disquieted thereby than it would be if my friend came home drunken
or failed to pay his debts。
Here I am then； a farmer； forty miles from home in planting time；
taking his ease under a maple tree and writing in a little book held on his
knee！ Is not that the height of absurdity？ Of all my friends the Scotch
Preacher was the only one who seemed to understand why it was that I
must go away for a time。 Oh； I am a sinful and revolutionary person！
When I left home last week； if you could have had a truthful picture of
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mefor is there not a photography so delicate that it will catch the dim
thought…shapes which attend upon our lives？if you could have had such a
truthful picture of me； you would have seen； besides a farmer named
Grayson with a gray bag hanging from his shoulder； a strange company
following close upon his steps。 Among this crew you would have made
out easily：
Two fine cows。 Four Berkshire pigs。 One team of gray horses； the old
mare a little lame in her right foreleg。 About fifty hens； four cockerels； and
a number of ducks and geese。
More than thisI shall offer no explanation in these writings of any
miracles that may appearyou would have seen an entirely respectable old
farmhouse bumping and hobbling along as best it might in the rear。 And in
the doorway； Harriet Grayson； in her immaculate white apron； with the
veritable look in her eyes which she wears when I am not comporting
myself with quite the proper decorum。
Oh； they would not let me go！ How they all followed clamoring after
me。 My thoughts coursed backward faster than ever I could run away。 If
you could have heard that motley crew of the barnyard as I did the hens
all cackling； the ducks quacking； the pigs grunting； and the old mare
neighing and stamping； you would have thought it a miracle that I escaped
at all。
So often we think in a superior and lordly manner of our possessions；
when； as a matter of fact； we do not really possess them； they possess us。
For ten years I have been the humble servant； attending upon the
commonest daily needs of sundry hens； ducks； geese； pigs； bees； and of a
fussy and exacting old gray mare。 And the habit of servitude； I find； has
worn deep scars upon me。 I am almost like the life prisoner who finds the
door of his cell suddenly open； and fears to escape。 Why； I had almost
become ALL farmer。
On the first morning after I left home I awoke as usual about five
o'clock with the irresistible feeling that I must do the milking。 So well
disciplined had I become in my servitude that I instinctively thrust my leg
out of bedbut pulled it quickly back in again； turned over； drew a long；
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luxurious breath； and said to myself：
〃Avaunt cows！ Get thee behind me； swine！ Shoo； hens！〃
Instantly the clatter of mastery to which I had responded so quickly for
so many years grew perceptibly fainter； the hens cackled less
domineeringly； the pigs squealed less insistently； and as for the strutting
cockerel； that lordly and despotic bird stopped fairly in the middle of a
crow； and his voice gurgled away in a spasm of astonishment。 As for the
old farmhouse； it grew so dim I could scarcely see it at all