ed into their dim eyes and studied
their heavy knuckles. I thought of the hand of Edwin Booth, of the
flower-like palm of Helena Modjeska, of the subtle touch of Inness, and
I said, "Is it not time that the human hand ceased to be primarily a
bludgeon for hammering a bare living out of the earth? Nature all
bountiful, undiscriminating, would, under justice, make such toil
unnecessary." My heart burned with indignation. With William Morris and
Henry George I exclaimed, "Nature is not to blame. Man's laws are to
blame,"--but of this I said nothing at the time--at least not to men
like Babcock and Fraser.

Next day I rode forth among the farms of Dry Run, retracing familiar
lanes, standing under the spreading branches of the maple trees I had
planted fifteen years before. I entered the low stone cabin wherein
Neighbor Button had lived for twenty years (always intending sometime to
build a house and make a granary of this), and at the table with the
family and the hired men, I ate again of Ann's "riz" biscuit and sweet
melon pickles. It was not a pleasant meal, on the contrary it was
depressing to me. The days of the border were over, and yet Arvilla his
wife was ill and aging, still living in pioneer discomfort toiling like
a slave.

At neighbor Gardner's home, I watched his bent complaining old wife
housekeeping from dawn to dark, literally dying on her feet. William
Knapp's home was somewhat improved but the men still came to the table
in their shirt sleeves smelling of sweat and stinking of the stable,
just as they used to do, and Mrs. Knapp grown more gouty, more unwieldy
than ever (she spent twelve or fourteen hours each day on her swollen
and aching feet), moved with a waddling motion because, as she
explained, "I can't limp--I'm just as lame in one laig as I am in
t'other. But 'tain't no use to complain, I've just so much work to do
and I might as well go ahead and do it."

I slept that night in her "best room," yes, at last, after thirty years
of pioneer life, she had a guest chamber and a new "bedroom soot." With
open pride and joy she led Belle Garland's boy in to view this precious
acquisition, pointing out the soap and towels, and carefully removing
the counterpane! I understood her pride, for my mother had not yet
acquired anything so luxurious as this. She was still on the border!

Next day, I called upon Andrew Ainsley and while the women cooked in a
red-hot kitchen, Andy stubbed about the barnyard in hi