Along in the forenoon a thunderstorm began to gather in the west, and I was in the right mood to realize what a care-free and irresponsible storm it was. Even though it was harvest-time, this storm was not obliged to take any thought about what it was doing. It didn't have to pick the just from the unjust and distribute the rain as a reward—or punishment. It rained on both alike. Though it was such a care-free storm, I confessed to a feeling of relief when I saw it sheering off to the south. There are all kinds of just and unjust men living down that way, and though they may not have wanted rain any more than we did, it was no part of my business to worry about them. It was enough for us to gather in our own crop and be thankful that, after all, the Hessian fly had left us a crop worth gathering.
When the storm had rumbled away, the sun came out, and it was certainly a care-free sun. It gave its stimulating warmth and heat to the weeds as freely as to the crops. If man wanted to coddle some plants for his own use, the sun was perfectly willing to do its part—but it did its part just as freely and irresponsibly for the grass and the weeds. In spite of the philosophers and teachers, Nature seemed very irresponsible to-day. She had been irresponsible in sowing her seeds and in promoting their growth, and it was quite evident that she would be equally irresponsible in her work of harvesting. The free and irresponsible winds would blow the seeds fitted with wings and parachutes to every point of the compass and let them fall where they would. The free streams would carry others to hospitable shores or would leave them to rot in the lakes or even in the ocean. Other seeds provided with spines and hooks would cling to our clothing or to the wool of the sheep and in that way be given a wholly irresponsible distribution. Nothing in Nature seemed to be burdened with responsibility or care or remorse or worry or ambition or any of the things with which we fret our lives. Being in a wholly irresponsible frame of mind, I could not help wondering if man has not gone woefully astray in making himself responsible for so much. Perhaps we have not interpreted properly that text about being our brother's keeper. Certainly our brothers seldom feel grateful to us when we concern ourselves with their affairs and try to make them realize that we regard ourselves as their keepers. As a rule they resent our interference, and our efforts do little good either to them or to us. Perhaps we should learn something from the irresponsibility of Nature to guide us in our dealings with our fellow-men.
Any one who cared to write a book about it could probably show that most of the wars and afflictions that have come on the world are due to attempts made by incompetent people to be their brothers' keepers. They start great wars to stop little ones, cause great evils by trying to remedy little ones, and otherwise make nuisances of themselves to the limit of their power. Why don't these people take to writing books instead of trying to set things right? Writing the books would free their surcharged spirits, and the world could go its way without bothering to read what they wrote. The more I think of it the more convinced I am that the writing of books would cure a lot of our evils—chiefly because it would help to rid the people who wrote the books of their feeling of responsibility for other people and their affairs. The fact that they had set down their views in fair type would ease their consciences and enable them to go about the ordinary little matters of their own lives in a care-free way. The book cure for our personal and collective troubles is hereby seriously recommended. And it is especially recommended to any one wanting to enjoy a holiday. You can't enjoy a holiday if you are worrying about your business in life. So write a book about it and get even with the world. Then you can enjoy a holiday even while going on with your work.
CONTENTS
| [I.] | The Affable Stranger | 3 |
| [II.] | The Elusive Insult | 13 |
| [III.] | Back to the Primitive | 23 |
| [IV.] | Grasping the Nettle | 34 |
| [V.] | Registering Reform | 44 |
| [VI.] | The Accused | 54 |
| [VII.] | A Burden of Farmers | 64 |
| [VIII.] | A World Drama | 75 |
| [IX.] | A World for Sale | 85 |
| [X.] | Organized for Profit | 98 |
| [XI.] | A Majority will be saved | 105 |
| [XII.] | Prince Kropotkin's Cow | 117 |
| [XIII.] | Old Home Week | 126 |
| [XIV.] | The Ward Leader | 138 |
| [XV.] | The New Master Word | 145 |
| [XVI.] | Loyalty | 153 |
| [XVII.] | The Shivering Texan | 161 |
| [XVIII.] | Many Inventions | 171 |
| [XIX.] | An Experiment in Modesty | 179 |
| [XX.] | My Private Mahatma | 186 |
| [XXI.] | The Soul of Canada | 195 |
| [XXII.] | A Land of Upper Berths | 204 |
| [XXIII.] | Epilogue | 213 |