“Say, that’s so.  I never thought o’ that.”

“Why,” I said, “the world is only half as big as it was before you fellows came along stringing your wires!  I can get to town now from my farm in two minutes, when it used to take me an hour.”

I really believe I gave him more of his own business than ever he had before, for he listened so intently that his pipe went out.

I found that Bill was from Ohio, and that he had been as far south as Atlanta and as far west as Denver.  He got his three dollars and a half a day, rain or shine, and thought it wonderful pay; and besides, he was seein’ the country “free, gratis, fer nothing.”

He got his coat out of the truck and took from the pocket a many-coloured folder.

“Say, Mister, have you ever been to the Northwest?”

“No,” said I.

“Well, it’s a great country, and I’m goin’ up there.”

He spread out the glittering folder and placed his big forefinger on a spot about the size of Rhode Island somewhere this side of the Rockies.

“How’ll you do it?” I asked.

“Oh, a lineman can go anywhere,” said he with a flourish, “A lineman don’t have to beg a job.  Besides, I got eighty dollars sewed up.”

Talk about freedom!  Never have I got a clearer impression of it than
Bill gave me that day.  No millionaire, no potentate, could touch him.

The crew came back all too soon for me.  Bill knocked the ashes out of his pipe on his boot heel, and put his “bucket” back in the truck.  Five minutes later he was climbing a tall pole with legs bowed out, striking in his spikes at each step.  From the cross-arm, up among the hemlock tops, he called out to me: 

“Good-bye, pard.”

“Stop in, Bill, and see me when you come by my place,” said I.

“You bet,” said he.

And he did, the next day, and I showed him off to Harriet, who brought him a plate of her best doughnuts and asked him about his mother.

Yesterday I saw him again careering by in the truck.  The job was finished.  He waved his hand at me.

“I’m off,” said he.

“Where?” I shouted.

“Canada.”

CHAPTER XIV

ON LIVING IN THE COUNTRY

“Why risk with men your hard won gold*? 
Buy grain and sow your Brother Dust
Will pay you back a hundred fold—­
The earth commits no breach of trust.”

Hindu Proverb, Translated by Arthur Guiterman.

It is astonishing how many people there are in cities and towns who have a secret longing to get back into quiet country places, to own a bit of the soil of the earth, and to cultivate it.  To some it appears as a troublesome malady only in spring and will be relieved by a whirl or two in country roads, by a glimpse of the hills, or a day by the sea; but to others the homesickness is deeper seated and will be quieted by no hasty visits.  These must actually go home.