ing my fingers? Queen Elizabeth did. I certainly
have a right to lie in the shade of the maple-tree for two hours
to-day instead of one hour, as I did yesterday. I wonder if
reclining on the grass under a maple-tree is not a part of the
pursuit of happiness that is specifically set out in the
Constitution? I hope so, for I'd like to have that wonderful
Constitution backing me up in the things I like to do. The sun is so
hot and hoeing potatoes is such a tiring task that I prefer to lounge
in the shade with my back against the Constitution.

In thinking of the pursuit of happiness I am inclined to personify
happiness and then watch the chase, wondering whether the pursuer
will ever overtake her, and what he'll do when he does. I note that
the Constitution does not guarantee that the pursuer will ever catch
her--but just gives him an open field and no favors. He may run just
as fast as he likes, and as long as his endurance holds out. I
suspect that's where the liberty comes in. I wonder if the makers of
the Constitution ever visualized that chase. If so, they must have
laughed, at least in their sleeves, solemn crowd that they were. If
I were certain that I could overtake happiness I'd gladly join in the
pursuit, even on such a warm day as this, but the dread uncertainty
makes me prefer to loll here in the shade. Besides, I'm not quite
certain that I could recognize her even if I could catch her. The
photographs that I have seen are so very different that I might
mistake happiness for some one else, and that would be embarrassing.

If I should conclude that I was happy, and then discover that I
wasn't, I scarcely see how I could explain myself to myself, much
less to others. So I shall go on hoeing my potatoes and not bother
my poor head about happiness. It is just possible that I shall find
it over there in the potato-patch, for its latitude and longitude
have never been definitely determined, so far as I am aware. I know
I shall find some satisfaction over there at work, and I am convinced
that satisfaction and happiness are kinsfolk. Possibly my potatoes
will prove the answer to some mother's prayer for food for her little
ones next winter. Who knows? As I loosen the soil about the vines I
can look down the vista of the months, and see some little one in his
high chair smiling through his tears as mother prepares one of my
beautiful potatoes for him, and I think I can detect some moisture in
mothe