As I was lying in the shade of the maple-tree down there by the ravine, yesterday, I fell to thinking about my rights, and the longer I lay there the more puzzled I became.  Being a citizen in a democracy, I have many rights that are guaranteed to me by the Constitution, notably life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  In my school I become expansive in extolling these rights to my pupils.  But under that maple-tree I found myself raising many questions as to these rights, and many others.  I have a right to sing tenor, but I can’t sing tenor at all, and when I try it I disturb my neighbors.  Right there I bump against a situation.  I have a right to use my knife at table instead of a fork, and who is to gainsay my using 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 mother’s eyes, too.  It is just possible that her tears are the consecrated incense upon the altar of thanksgiving.