never distinguish myself in any profession.  I would be a poor lawyer or doctor, living in a back street all the days of my life, and never watch a tree or flower grow, or tend an animal, or have a drive unless I paid for it.  No, thank you.  I agree with President Eliot, of Harvard.  He says scarcely one person in ten thousand betters himself permanently by leaving his rural home and settling in a city.  If one is a millionaire, city life is agreeable enough, for one can always get away from it; but I am beginning to think that it is a dangerous thing, in more ways than one, to be a millionaire.  I believe the safety of the country lies in the hands of the farmers; for they are seldom very poor or very rich.  We stand between the two dangerous classes—­the wealthy and the paupers.”

“But most farmers lead such a dog’s life,” said Mr. Maxwell.

“So they do; farming isn’t made one-half as attractive as it should be,” said Mr. Harry.

Mr. Maxwell smiled.  “Attractive farming.  Just sketch an outline of that, will you, Gray?”

“In the first place,” said Mr. Harry, “I would like to tear out of the heart of the farmer the thing that is as firmly implanted in him as it is in the heart of his city brother—­the thing that is doing more to harm our nation than anything else under the sun.”

“What is that?” asked Mr. Maxwell, curiously.

“The thirst for gold.  The farmer wants to get rich, and he works so hard to do it that he wears himself out soul and body, and the young people around him get so disgusted with that way of getting rich, that they go off to the cities to find out some other way, or at least to enjoy themselves, for I don’t think many young people are animated by a desire to heap up money.”

Mr. Maxwell looked amused.  “There is certainly a great exodus from country places cityward,” he said.  “What would be your plan for checking it?”

“I would make the farm so pleasant, that you couldn’t hire the boys and girls to leave it.  I would have them work, and work hard, too, but when their work was over, I would let them have some fun.  That is what they go to the city for.  They want amusement and society, and to get into some kind of a crowd when their work is done.  The young men and young women want to get together, as is only natural.  Now that could be done in the country.  If farmers would be contented with smaller profits and smaller farms, their houses could be nearer together.  Their children would have opportunities of social intercourse, there could be societies and clubs, and that would tend to a distribution of literature.  A farmer ought to take five or six papers and two or three magazines.  He would find it would pay him in the long run, and there ought to be a law made compelling him to go to the post office once a day.”

Mr. Maxwell burst out laughing.  “And another to make him mend his roads as well as mend his ways.  I tell you Gray, the bad roads would put an end to all these fine schemes of yours.  Imagine farmers calling on each other on a dark evening after a spring freshet.  I can see them mired and bogged, and the house a mile ahead of them.”