Along Fifth avenue, New York, not far from the Metropolitan Museum, is
a typical town house. A man of means maintains it for social and
business reasons. But he does not live there. His intimates know that
only a few minutes after the last dinner guest has departed, his
chauffeur will drive him some twenty miles to a much simpler abode on
a secluded dirt road. Here, he really lives. Whistling tree toads
replace the constant whir of buses and taxicabs.

Most of us cannot be so extravagant. We are fortunate to have one
home, either in the city or the country. Renting or buying it entails
sacrifices, and maintaining it has its unexpected expenses that always
come at the wrong time. What do those who live beyond the limits of
cities and sophisticated villages gain by hanging their crane with the
rabbits and woodchucks?

First, country living is the answer to congestion. Even the most
modest country cottage is more spacious than the average city
apartment. Life in such a house may be simple but not cramped. There
is light and air on all sides. This may seem unimportant but did you
ever occupy an apartment where the windows opened on a court or were
but a few feet from the brick wall of another warren for humans? If
the sun reached your windows an hour or two a day, you were lucky. In
a country house there is sunlight somewhere on pleasant days from
morning to night. That difference can only be understood by those who
have known both ways of living.

In town, light and air cost money; along the rural postal routes it is
as much a part of the scheme of things as summer insects or winter
snows. And it may have a very definite bearing on the well being of
all members of the family. Some suffer more than they realize from