But one pleasure they missed. They never saw even the astonished face, much less the highly irritated mind, of old John Blake, when he first returned from his two years of travel. The worst of it was he had eaten the stuff all the way home-and liked it! They told him it was Chestnut Meal—but that meant nothing to him. Then he began to find the jingling advertisements in every magazine; things that ran in his head and annoyed him.
"When corn or rice no more are nice,
When oatmeal seems to pall,
When cream of wheat's no longer sweet
And you abhor them all—"
"I do abhor them all!" the old man would vow, and take up a newspaper, only to read:
"Better than any food that grows
Upon or in the ground,
Strong, pure and sweet
And good to eat
Our tree-born nuts are found."
"Bah!" said Mr. Blake, and tried another, which only showed him:
"Good for mother, good for brother,
Good for child;
As for father—well, rather!
He's just wild."
He was. But the truth never dawned upon him till he came to this one:
"About my hut
There grew a nut
Nutritious;
I could but feel
'Twould make a meal
Delicious.
I had a Hill,
I built a Mill
Upon it.
And hour by hour
I sought for power
To run it.
To burn my trees
Or try the breeze
Seemed crazy;
To use my arm
Had little charm—
I'm lazy!