I know that she is right. I must be stricter with these trespassers, all save the toad who toils for me.
But the fact is, I cannot find it in my heart to dispute possession of this fair spot with any fellow creature, especially with those little wild folk whose right is vastly better than my own. No paltry written deed, doubtless defective in essential details, vouches for their occupancy, but rather long inheritance and straight descent from the first owners. A soft and inefficient point of view, I know. It wins scant approval from my friend who styles himself a hard-headed business man. He’s doubtless right, for I recall how once I battled in the marts of trade and how futile were my efforts to be like him, how weak and wavering were my policies, until I saw I was too soft and pliant to contest with him, and with what grace I could I then withdrew.
Since then, with what I have I live content. A dog, a horse, a cow, a pig or two, some fowl, and rabbits for full measure; with these I need not traffic or exchange; no trading this for that, no buying cheap and selling dear, no asking more than what I think is right. An empty life, you cry. Mayhap for you, but not for me. It is a life so full that half cannot be done.
And then, beside all these, a tiny house, well filled with kindred souls. Of these no words can tell, and it is well, for there are things of which no man may speak.
But in the garden that enshrines the house one may, with proper reverence, rejoice. For here the very essence of it all distills; here is the sign, the token of it all.
The sweet outdoors, the lure of husbandry; restrained and gentle though it be; the mystery of growth and fruitfulness; a beauty changing every hour, each day; the hours of tranquil joy and easy talk; the twilight with its hint of old romance; the nights, serene and fragrant, each with its mood to fill my brimming cup!
And so I sum my blessings up, and as I move about my small domain and visit each familiar spot and see once more the flowers and the beasts, in sheer content, with humble mind and thankful heart, I call them blessed, one and all.
Printed by McGrath-Sherrill Press, Boston
Bound by Boston Bookbinding Co., Cambridge