The Jonathan Papers

arm S

orning seems to be the farm's busiest time. If there are new broods of chickens, they appear then; if there is a young calf coming, it is his birthday; if the gray cat-an uninvited resident of the barn-must go forth on marauding expeditions, he chooses this day for his evil work

hat abou

's half-pas

t do it.

en for that cat!"-or

ing stories that might be

look in their eyes, as if they saw you but chose to look just beyond you. It always irritates me to see the hens do that. It

lower pasture," said Jonathan, "and then I'll harness. We o

down this morning?" I said, doubtfully

and she ought to get into some good grass thi

ry." I still

han easily. "I'm all ready for church, except for these shoe

that direction the sounds of exhortation such as are usually employed towards "critters." They seemed to be c

" I called. "I thought you

as she went out of the gate, and I couldn't head her off in time. Oh, there

utes," he called up at m

anaged to turn her. Just beyond, at the fork in the road, I saw Bill turn down towards the cider-mill, while Jonathan k

They grew louder; yes, surely, there was the cow, just appearing over the hill and trotting briskly along the road towards home. And there was Jonathan, also trotting briskly. He looked red

ng out his handkerchief, began flapping th

bars, and while I was doing that she went along the road a bit, an

ou stop he

e. Then they went on. Only by that time, you see, she was a bit excited, and when we came

n't look as though she had done so much,"-and then, as I gl

last flick, and, putting up his handkerch

inner yard," I said, "and t

"Not much! You don't think I'

n, it's half

-she's quiet now, you see, and the bar

d. But, seeing he was firm, "Wel

ake no concessions based on feminine equipment. "Oh, that doesn't matter. I'll get my big apro

to start her on the right road once more. She was not, however, going as slowly as Jonathan had planned, and it was with some misgivings that I donned my apron and went in to harness Kit. I led her around to the carriage-house and put her into the buggy, and still he had not returned. I got out the lap robe, shook it, and folded it neatly on the back of the seat. No Jonathan! There was nothing more for me to do, so I took off my apron and climbed into the carriage to wait. The carria

od looking out of the door. Hark! What was that? It sounded like the beat of hoofs in the lane-the cattle wouldn't come up at this hour! I stood up to see past the inner barnyard and off down the lane. "What on earth!" I said to myself. For-yes-surely-that was the two-year-old Devon coming leisurely up the lane towards the yard. In a few moments Jonathan's head appeared, then his shoulders, then his entire dusty, discouraged se

tea under the trees. Couldn't you see that

in. But do tell me, how did you ever get around

ried to dodge the bars, but I turned her in through them all right. But some idiot had left the bars down at the other

t you out by the huckleberry knoll, and

ter reminiscence. "She-certainly-did. I chased her up the ledges and through the sumachs and down th

tly; and added, "What are y

t in a fas

ut her in that

shed dream, but I began to fear that Sunday dinner

ut her in the barn till I can ge

ed. When he came back, he had changed into a flannel shirt and working trousers. He en

called, "and take a stick, and

gingerly poked at the animal's hind quarters and said, "Hi!" until at last, with

l right now,"

ncident. At the road she suddenly balked. She twisted her horns and set her front legs. I

gain. Now, when I pull, you hit her behind, and she'

rently forgotten," I repl

ous and unlovely sidewise lunges and much b

hit her! Hit her harder! She doesn't fee

s we progressed up the road, over the hill, and down to the lower pastu

ushed and the c

ee they wag

hat I did not quote until afterwards. This was the remark of a sailor uncle of mine: "A

ettles down. The "critters" are all attended to, the chicks are stowed, the cat has disappeared, the hens have finished all their important business and are lying on their sides in their favorite dirt-holes enjoying their du

g maples it seems to be reproaching us-"See how quiet

quite the right one. In the city church-going is rather a sober affair. People either walk or take cars. They wear a certain sort of clothes, known as "church clothes," which represent a sort of hedging compromise between the

tiest things they own-their "Sunday-go-to-meeting" ones, which means something quite different from "church clothes." As one nears the village there is some friendly rivalry between horses, there is the pleasure of "catchin

d glass is more rare. In many it has not even gained place at all, and the panes of clear glass let in a glory of blueness and whiteness and greenness to rejoice the heart of the worshiper. In others, more ambitious, alas! there is ground glass with tint

d's foxgloves and larkspur-what a wonder of yellow and white and blue! Each in its season, the flowers are full of personal significance. The choir, too, is made up of our friends. There is Hiram Brown, and Jennie Sewall, and young Mrs. Harris, back for three weeks

get the horses, and the women chat while they wait. Then the teams come up, as many as the roadway will hold, and there is the bustle of departure, the taking of seats, the harsh grinding of w

through seeing "the folks" go by. It is a distinct pleasure to see our neighbors trundling along towards the village. And then, if luck has been against us and we cannot join them, it is a pleasure to lie in the grass and listen to the quie

is the First Church bell, and the Baptist; there is St. John's, on a higher note, and Trinity, a little lower. After a time

rest does not individualize it enough. It has to be described not so much in terms of rest as of balance and height. I think of the week as a long, sweeping curve, like the curve of a swi

atter so long as it is different from the week, and so long as it expresses and develops that peculiar Sunday quality of balance and height. I can imagine nothing drearier than seven days al

a sense of poise between reminiscence and expectancy. The stir of the morning church-going brightens but does not mar this. It adds the human note-rather not a note, but a quiet chord of many to

t together; if they are married, they go home to "his folks" or "her folks." Friends walk together, farmers saunter along the road or back on the farms to "take a look" at things. Co

ith the cows come duties,- chore-time,-then the simple, cold supper, then the short, quiet evening, and o