The
chickens are the envy and pride of the county, and there are so many of
them that they have to take turns in going to roost. The pigs are the
most intelligent of their kind, and are so happy they never grunt. In
fact, everything is lovely and cheap, the only thing that hangs high
being the goose."
[Illustration: "'THE GLADSOME CLICK OF THE LAWN-MOWER'"]
"Quite an ideal, no doubt," put in the School-master, scornfully. "I
suppose his is one of those model farms with steam-pipes under the walks
to melt the snow in winter, and of course there is a vein of coal
growing right up into his furnace ready to be lit."
"Yes," observed the Bibliomaniac; "and no doubt the chickens lay eggs in
every style--poached, fried, scrambled, and boiled. The weeds in the
garden grow so fast, I suppose, that they pull themselves up by the
roots; and if there is anything left undone at the end of the day I
presume tramps in dress suits, and courtly in manner, spring out of the
ground and finish up for him."
"I'll bet he's not on good terms with his neighbors if he has everything
you speak of in such perfection. These farmers get frightfully jealous
of each other," asserted the Doctor, with a positiveness that seemed to
be born of experience.
"He never quarrelled with one of them in his life," returned the Idiot.
"He doesn't know them well enough to quarrel with them; in fact, I doubt
if he ever sees them at all. He's very exclusive."
"Of course he is a born farmer to get everything the way he has it,"
suggested Mrs.
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