CHAPTER XII

THINGS

I keep resolving and resolving to reform and lead the simple life,
but something always happens that prevents the execution of my plans.
When I am grubbing out willows along the ravine, the grubbing-hoe, a
lunch-basket well filled, and a jug of water from the deep well up
there under the trees seem to be the sum total of the necessary
appliances for a life of usefulness and contentment. There is a
friendly maple-tree near the scene of the grubbing activities, and an
hour at noon beneath that tree with free access to the basket and the
jug seems to meet the utmost demands of life. The grass is
luxuriant, the shade is all-embracing, and the willows can wait. So,
what additions can possibly be needed? I lie there in the shade, my
hunger and thirst abundantly satisfied, and contemplate the results
of my forenoon's toil with the very acme of satisfaction. There is
now a large, clear space where this morning there was a jungle of
willows. The willows have been grubbed out _imis sedibus_, as our
friend Virgil would say it, and not merely chopped off; and the
thoroughness of the work gives emphasis to the satisfaction.

The overalls, the heavy shoes, and the sunshade hat all belong in the
picture. But the entire wardrobe costs less than the hat I wear on
Sunday. Then the comfort of these inexpensive habiliments! I need
not be fastidious in such a garb, but can loll on the grass without
compunction. When I get mud upon my big shoes I simply scrape it off