And this was what our chosen stream did for us. It was always
luring us away from an artificial life into restful companionship
with nature.
Suppose, for example, we found ourselves growing a bit dissatisfied
with the domestic arrangements of our little cottage, and coveting
the splendours of a grander establishment. An afternoon on the
brook was a good cure for that folly. Or suppose a day came when
there was an imminent prospect of many formal calls. We had an
important engagement up the brook; and while we kept it we could
think with satisfaction of the joy of our callers when they
discovered that they could discharge their whole duty with a piece
of pasteboard. This was an altruistic pleasure. Or suppose that a
few friends were coming to supper, and there were no flowers for the
supper-table. We could easily have bought them in the village. But
it was far more to our liking to take the children up the brook, and
come back with great bunches of wild white honeysuckle and blue
flag, or posies of arrowheads and cardinal-flowers. Or suppose that
I was very unwisely and reluctantly labouring at some serious piece
of literary work, promised for the next number of THE SCRIBBLER'S
REVIEW; and suppose that in the midst of this labour the sad news
came to me that the fisherman had forgotten to leave any fish at our
cottage that morning.
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