It must have been a happy time for both of them. They had a comfortable home, plenty to eat and wear, they were surrounded by friends. There was a simple neighborly spirit, a true democracy, in that little country community. There were no very poor families there; no very rich ones; every one had plenty, and wanted no more. Henry's hired men ate at the table with him, slept under the same roof, called him "Hen" as a matter of course, just as he called them "Hi" and "Dave." They worked together to plant, care for and harvest the crops. Their interests were the same, and if at the end of the year Henry had a more improved farm to show for the year's work, it was the only difference between them. He had lived no better, spent no more, than the others. It was in those years that he laid the foundation for his philosophy of life. He found that the work of the farm progressed faster and produced more when every one worked together with a good will, each doing his own share and doing it well. He found that men, like horses, did their best when they were well fed, contented and not overworked. He saw that one unruly horse, or one surly, lazy man, delayed the work of the whole farm, hindered all the others. "The only plan that will work out well in the long run is a plan that is best for every one concerned," he decided. "Hurting the other fellow is bound to hurt me sooner or later." He was a good farmer. His mechanical, orderly mind arranged the work so that it was done smoothly, and on time, without overworking any one or leaving any one idle. His thrifty instincts saved labor and time just as they saved the barn manure to spread on the fields, or planned for the turning in of the last crop of clover to enrich the soil. His granaries were well filled in the fall, his stock was sleek and fat, fetching top prices. Clara kept the house running smoothly, the pantry filled with good, simple food, the cellar shelves stocked with preserves and jams for winter. In the evenings Henry got out his mechanics' journals and pored over them, while Clara sewed or mended. He found now and then a mention of the horseless carriage. "That looks to me like a good idea. If I was in Detroit now, where I could get a good machine shop, I believe I could do something along that line myself," he said. "Probably you could," his wife replied, rocking comfortably. "But what's the use? We've got everything here we need." "Yes; but I'd just like to try what I could do," Henry said restlessly. A few days later he inspected his farm shop and announced that he was going up to Detroit for a day to get some materials. CHAPTER IX THE LURE OF THE MACHINE SHOPS