long meadow, and the corner meadow,
and the hill orchard, and then there's the ten-acre lot for corn and
potatoes--only I wish you wouldn't plant potatoes."

"What's the matter with potatoes?"

"Oh, I don't know. First, they are too neat and green, and then they are
all covered with potato-bug powder, and then they wither up and lie all
around, and then they are dug, and the field is a sight! Now, rye and
corn! They're lovely from beginning to end."

Jonathan ruminated. "I seem to see myself expressing these ideas to
Hiram," he remarked dryly.

"I suppose it all comes down to the simple question, What is the farm
for?" I said.

"I am afraid that is what Hiram would think," said Jonathan.

"Never mind about Hiram," I said severely. "Now really, away down deep,
haven't you yourself a sneaking desire for--oh, for crops, and for
having things look shipshape, as you call it? Now, haven't you?"

"I wonder," said Jonathan, as though we were talking about a third
person.

"I don't wonder; I know. The trouble with men," I went on, "is that
when they want to make a thing look well, all they can think of is
cutting and chopping. Look at a man when he goes to a party, or to have
his picture taken! He always dashes to the barber's first--that is,
unless there's a woman around to interfere. Do you remember Jack Mason
when he was married? Face and neck the color of raw beef from sunburn,
and hair cropped so close it made his head look like a drab egg!"

"I didn't notice," said Jonathan.

"No, I suppose not. You would have done the same thing--you're all
alike. Look at horses! When men want to make a horse look stylish, why,
chop off his tail, of course! And they are only beginning to learn
better. When a man builds a house, what does he do? Cuts down every
tree, every bush and twig, and makes it 'shipshape,' as you call it. And
then the women have to come along and plant everything all over again."

"But things need cutting now and then," said Jonathan. "You wouldn't
like it, you know, if a man never went to the barber's. He'd look like a
woodchuck."

"There are worse-looking things than woodchucks. Still, of course,
there's a medium. Possibly the woodchuck carries neglect to excess."

The discussion rested there. I do not know whether Jonathan expressed
any of these ideas to Hiram, but the grooming process appeared to be
temporarily suspended. Then one day my turn came. It was dusk, and I was
sitting on an old log at