We love to read the lives of the great, yet what a broken history of mankind they give, unless supplemented by the lives of the humble.

But while the great can speak for themselves, or by the tongues of their admirers, the humble are apt to live inarticulate and die unheard.

It is well that now and then one is born among the simple with a taste for self-revelation.

The man or woman thus endowed must speak, will speak, though there are only the grasses in the field to hear, and none but the wind to carry the tale.
* * * * * It is fun to run over the bridge, with a clatter of stout little shoes on resounding timbers.

We pass a walled orchard on the right, and remind each other of the fruit we enjoyed here last summer.