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anywhere； but it is quite another thing to be accepted by your humankind
not as a paid lodger but as a friend。 Always； it seems to me； I have wanted
to submit myself； and indeed submit the stranger； to that test。 Moreover；
how can any man look for true adventure in life if he always knows to a
certainty where his next meal is coming from？ In a world so completely
dominated by goods； by things； by possessions； and smothered by security；
what fine adventure is left to a man of spirit save the adventure of
poverty？
I do not mean by this the adventure of involuntary poverty； for I
maintain that involuntary poverty； like involuntary riches； is a credit to no
man。 It is only as we dominate life that we really live。 What I mean here；
if I may so express it； is an adventure in achieved poverty。 In the lives of
such true men as Francis of Assisi and Tolstoi； that which draws the world
to them in secret sympathy is not that they lived lives of poverty； but
rather； having riches at their hands； or for the very asking； that they chose
poverty as the better way of life。
As for me； I do not in the least pretend to have accepted the final logic
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THE FRIENDLY ROAD
of an achieved poverty。 I have merely abolished temporarily from my life
a few hens and cows； a comfortable old farmhouse； andcertain other
emoluments and hereditamentsbut remain the slave of sundry cloth upon
my back and sundry articles in my gray bagincluding a fat pocket
volume or so； and a tin whistle。 Let them pass now。 To…morrow I may wish
to attempt life with still less。 I might survive without my battered copy of
〃Montaigne〃 or even submit to existence without that sense of distant
companionship symbolized by a postage…stamp； and as for trousers
In this deceptive world； how difficult attainment is perfection！
No； I expect I shall continue for a long time to owe the worm his silk；
the beast his hide； the sheep his wool； and the cat his perfume！ What I am
seeking is something as simple and as quiet as the trees or the hills just
to look out around me at the pleasant countryside； to enjoy a little of this
show； to meet （and to help a little if I may） a few human beings； and thus
to get nearly into the sweet kernel of human life）。 My friend； you may or
may not think this a worthy object； if you do not； stop here； go no further
with me； but if you do； why； we'll exchange great words on the road； we'll
look up at the sky together； we'll see and hear the finest things in this
world！ We'll enjoy the sun！ We'll live light in spring！
Until last Tuesday； then； I was carried easily and comfortably onward
by the corn； the eggs； and the honey of my past labours； and before
Wednesday noon I began to experience in certain vital centres
recognizable symptoms of a variety of discomfort anciently familiar to
man。 And it was all the sharper because I did not know how or where I
could assuage it。 In all my life； in spite of various ups and downs in a fat
world； I don't think I was ever before genuinely hungry。 Oh； I've been
hungry in a reasonable； civilized way； but I have always known where in
an hour or so I could get all I wanted to eata condition accountable； in
this world； I am convinced； for no end of stupidity。 But to be both
physically and； let us say； psychologically hungry； and not to know where
or how to get anything to eat； adds something to the zest of life。
By noon on Wednesday； then； I was reduced quite to a point of
necessity。 But where was I to begin； and how？ I know from long
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THE FRIENDLY ROAD
experience the suspicion with which the ordinary farmer meets the Man of
the Road the man who appears to wish to enjoy the fruits of the earth
without working for them： with his hands。 It is a distrust deep…seated and
ages old。 Nor can the Man of the Road ever quite understand the Man of
the Fields。 And here was I； for so long the stationary Man of the Fields；
essaying the role of the Man of the Road。 I experienced a sudden sense of
the enlivenment of the faculties： I must now depend upon wit or cunning
or human nature to win my way； not upon mere skill of the hand or
strength in the bent back。 Whereas in my former life； when I was assailed
by a Man of the Road； whether tramp or peddler or poet； I had only to
stand stock…still within my fences and say nothingthough indeed I never
could do that； being far too much interested in every one who came my
wayand the invader was soon repelled。 There is nothing so resistant as
the dull security of possession the stolidity of ownership！
Many times that day I stopped by a field side or at the end of a lane； or
at a house…gate； and considered the possibilities of making an attack。 Oh； I
measured the houses and barns I saw with a new eye！ The kind of country
I had known so long and familiarly became a new and foreign land； full of
strange possibilities。 I spied out the men in the fields and did not fail； also；
to see what I could of the commissary department of each farmstead as I
passed。 I walked for miles looking thus for a favourable openingand with
a sensation of embarrassment at once disagreeable and pleasurable。 As the
afternoon began to deepen I saw that I must absolutely do something： a
whole day tramping in the open air without a bite to eat is an irresistible
argument。
Presently I saw from the road a farmer and his son planting potatoes in
a sloping field。 There was no house at all in view。 At the bars stood a light
wagon half filled with bags of seed potatoes； and the horse which had
drawn it stood quietly； not far off； tied to the fence。 The man and the boy；
each with a basket on his arm； were at the farther end of the field；
dropping potatoes。 I stood quietly watching them。 They stepped quickly
and kept their eyes on the furrows： good workers。 I liked the looks of them。
I liked also the straight； clean furrows； I liked the appearance of the horse。
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THE FRIENDLY ROAD
〃I will stop here；〃 I said to myself。
I cannot at all convey the sense of high adventure I had as I stood there。
Though I had not the slightest idea of what I should do or say； yet I was
determined upon the attack。
Neither father nor son saw me until they had nearly reached the end of
the field。
〃Step lively； Ben；〃 I heard the man say with some impatience； 〃we've
got to finish this field to…day。〃
〃I AM steppin' lively； dad；〃 responded the boy； 〃but it's awful hot。 We
can't possibly finish to…day。 It's too much。〃
〃We've got to get through here to…day；〃 the man replied grimly； 〃we're
already two weeks late。〃
I know just how the man felt； for I knew well the difficulty a farmer
has in getting help in planting time。 The spring waits for no man。 My heart
went out to the man and boy struggling there in the heat of their field。 For
this is the real warfare of the common life。
〃Why；〃 I said to myself with a curious lift of the heart； 〃they have need
of a fellow just like me。〃
At that moment the boy saw me and； missing a step in the rhythm of
the planting； the father also looked up and saw me。 But neither said a word
until the furrows were finished； and the planters came to refill their
baskets。
〃Fine afternoon；〃 I said； sparring for an opening。
〃Fine；〃 responded the man rather shortly； glancing up from his work。 I
recalled the scores of times I had been exactly in his place； and had
glanced up to see the stranger in the road。
〃Got another basket handy？〃 I asked。
〃There is one somewhere around here；〃 he answered not too cordially。
The boy said nothing at all； but eyed me with absorbing interest。 The
gloomy look had already gone from his face。
I slipped my gray bag from my shoulder； took off my coat； and put
them both down inside the fence。 Then I found the basket and began to fill
it from one of the bags。 Both man and boy looked up at me questioningly。
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