After all, the most delightful thing about a visit to the cities is the trip home. I take no joy in seeing sky-scrapers so high that you have to swallow your Adam's apple three times before you can see to the top of one. And the streets are crowded with abominations of noise and speed that make the foot-passenger from the country get about like a whirling dervish. And you find the men you know all working like mad for other people, so that they can earn money with which to hire other people to serve them with the necessaries of life. They get salaries from corporations that enable them to buy the products of other corporations that are all intent on charging all the traffic will bear. This sort of thing is doubtless very businesslike and modern and up-to-date, but if I went back to it I should feel very much as if I were being put through a sausage-mill to appease the hunger of some monster whose appetite I could not understand. I am afraid my powers of reasoning are not what they used to be, for although I can see the homely common sense of raising potatoes and vegetables and apples and such-like things for my own use, I cannot figure out where I should be benefited by living the strenuous life so that I could earn enough to buy potatoes and apples of a poorer and somewhat faded character from some one else. As nearly as I can see, our methods of handling and distributing our food products merely take away from the quality and add to the price, and no one is benefited but those incomprehensible people who devote their lives to accumulating profits instead of to acquiring leisure and enjoying life. The problem is too deep for me. I thought I loved the country before, but this time I see it in a new light. After I had left the last great city and began to watch the trees whirling past the car windows I had a sense of companionship never felt before. They seemed so much alive and so serene and friendly that I began to quote: "Leaf by leaf they will befriend me As with comrades going home."