There are two reasons for that: the first is that I never had enough to say; the second is that I would have had too much to write. "Oh!" you will be thinking when you read this. "His advanced age has deranged old Araim's mind. He says in one breath that he had too much and too little to say. Is that sensible?" Wait a moment, my son; be not in a hurry to believe that your old father has fallen into his second infancy. Listen, and you will discover how it is that I have at once too much and not enough to write upon. As to what concerns my own life, being an old husbandman, I have been in the same predicament as my ancestors since Schanvoch--there never was sufficient matter for me to write about. Indeed, the interesting and charming narrative would have run somewhat after this fashion: "Last year the autumn crop was richer than the winter crop; this year it is the reverse." Or, "The large black cow yields daily six pints of milk more than the brindled cow." Or, "The January sheep have turned out more woolly than the sheep of last March." Or, "Last year grain was so dear, so very dear, that a 'muid' of old wheat sold at from twelve to thirteen deniers. The price of cattle and poultry is also on the upward tack: we now pay two gold sous for a draft ox, one gold sou for a milch-cow, six gold sous for a draft horse." Or, "Will not our descendants be delighted to know that in these days a pig, if good and fat, fetches twelve deniers in autumn, which is neither more nor less than the cost of a bell-wether? And will they not rejoice to learn that our last coop of one hundred fat geese was sold last winter at the market of Vannes for a full pound of silver by the weight? And imagine how well posted they will feel when they learn that the day-laborers whom we hire during harvest time are paid by us one denier a day." That would hardly be considered either a charming or a thrilling narrative. On the other hand, would our descendants feel more elated if I were to tell them: