第1章

Half-CenturyPilgrimageontheMain-TravelledRoadofLifeHasBroughtThemOnlyToilandDeprivation，ThisBookofStoriesIsDedicatedByaSontoWhomEveryDayBringsaDeepeningSenseofHisParents’SilentHeroismTableofContentsPrefaceABranchRoadUptheCouleeAmongtheCornRowsTheReturnofaPrivateUndertheLion’sPawTheCreameryManADay’sPleasureMrsRipley’sTripUncleEthanRipleyGod’sRavensA“GoodFellow’s“Wife

Inthesummerof1887，afterhavingbeenthreeyearsinBostonandsixyearsabsentfrommyoldhomeinnorthernIowa，IfoundmyselfwithmoneyenoughtopaymyrailwayfaretoOrdway，SouthDakota，wheremyfatherandmotherwereliving，andasitcostverylittleextratogobywayofDubuqueandCharlesCity，

plannedtovisitOsage，Iowa，andthefarmwehadopenedonDryRunprairiein

UptothistimeIhadwrittenonlyafewpoemsandsomearticlesdescriptiveofboylifeontheprairie，althoughIwasdoingagooddealofthinkingandlecturingonlandreform，andwasregardedasaveryintense-discipleofHerbertSpencerandHenryGeorgeasingularcombination，asIseeitnow。Onmywaywestward，thatsummerdayin1887，rurallifepresenteditselffromanentirelynewangle。Theugliness，theendlessdrudgery，andthelonelinessofthefarmer’slotsmotemewithsterninsistence。Iwasthemilitantreformer。

ThefartherIgotfromChicagothemoredepressingthelandscapebecame。ItwasbadenoughinourformerhomeinMitchellCounty，butmypitygrewmoreintenseasIpassedfromnorthwestIowaintosouthernDakota。Thehouses，bareasboxes，droppedonthetreelessplains，thebarbed-wirefencesrunningatrightangles，andthetownsmereassemblagesofflimsywoodenshedswithpainted-pinebattlement，producedonmetheeffectofanalmosthelplessandsterilepoverty。

Mydarkmoodwasdeepenedintobitternessbymyfather’sfarm，whereIfoundmymotherimprisonedinasmallcabinontheenormoussunburned，treelessplain，withnoexpectationofeverlivinganywhereelse。Desertedbyhersonsandfailinginhealth，sheenduredthediscomfortsofherlifeuncomplainingly-butmyresentmentof“thingsastheyare“deepenedduringmytalkswithherneighbors，whowereallhousedinthesameunshadedcabinsinequalpovertyandloneliness。Thefactthatattwenty-sevenIwaswithoutpowertoaidmymotherinanysubstantialwayaddedtomydespairingmood。

MysavingsforthetwoyearsofmyteachinginBostonwerenotsufficienttoenablemetopurchasemyreturnticket，andwhenmyfatherofferedmeastacker’swagesintheharvestfieldIacceptedandfortwoweeksormoreprovedmyworthwiththefork，whichwasstillmightier-withme-thanthepen。

However，Ididnotentirelyneglectthepen。InspiteofthedustandheatofthewheatrieksIdreamedofpoemsandstories。Mymindteemedwithsubjectsforfiction，andoneSundaymorningIsettoworkonastorywhichhadbeensuggestedtomebyatalkwithmymother，andafewhourslaterIreadtoher(seatedonthelowsillofthattreelesscottage)thefirsttwothousandwordsof“Mrs。

Ripley’sTrip，“thefirstoftheseriesofsketcheswhichbecameMain-TravelledRoads。

Ididnotsucceedinfinishingit，however，tillaftermyreturntoBostoninSeptember。Duringthefallandwinterof’87andthewinterandspringof’88，IwrotethemostofthestoriesinMain-TravelledRoads，anovelettefortheCenturyMagazine，andaplaycalled“UndertheWheel。“TheactualworkofthecompositionwascarriedonthesouthatticroomofDoctorCross’shouseat21SeavernsAvenue，JamaicaPlain。

Themoodofbitternessinwhichthesebookswerewrittenwasrenewedandaugmentedbyasecondvisittomyparentsin1889，forduringmystaymymothersufferedastrokeofparalysisduetooverworkandthedreadfulheatofthesummer。ShegrewbetterbeforethetimecameformetoreturntomyteachinginBoston，butIfeltlikeasneakasItookmywaytothetrain，leavingmymotherandsisteronthatbleakandsun-bakedplain。

“OldPapsFlaxen，““JasonEdwards，““ASpoilofOffice，“andmostofthestoriesgatheredintothesecondvolumeofMain-TravelledRoadswerewrittenintheshadowofthesedefeats。

Iftheyseemundulyaustere，letthereaderrememberthetimesinwhichtheywerecomposed。ThattheyweretrueofthefarmsofthatdaynoonecanknowbetterthanI，forIwasthere-afarmer。

LifeonthefarmsofIowaandWisconsin-evenonthefarmsofDakota-hasgainedinbeautyandsecurity，Iwilladmit，buttherearestillwidestretchesofterritoryinKansasandNebraskawherethefarmhouseisalonelyshelter。Grovesandlawns，betterroads，theruralfreedelivery，thetelephone，andthemotorcarhavedonemuchtobringthefarmerintoaframeofmindwhereheiscontentedwithhislot，butmuchremainstobedonebeforethestreamofyounglifefromthecountrytothecitycanbechecked。

ThetwovolumesofMain-TravelledRoadscannowbetakentobewhatWilliamDeanHowellscalledthem，“historicalfiction，“fortheyformarecordofthefarmer’slifeasIliveditandstudiedit。Inthesetwobooksisarecordoftheprivationsandhardshipsofthemenandwomenwhosubduedthemidlandwildernessandpreparedthewayforthepresentgoldenageofagriculture。

Themain-travelledroadintheWest(aseverywhere)ishotanddustyinsummer，anddesolateanddrearwithmudinfallandspring，andinwinterthewindssweepthesnowacrossit；butitdoessometimescrossarichmeadowwherethesongsofthelarksandbobolinksandblackbirdsaretangled。Followitfarenough，itmayleadpastabendintheriverwherethewaterlaughseternallyoveritsshallows。

Mainlyitislongandwearyfulandhasadulllittletownatoneend，andahomeoftoilattheother。Likethemain-travelledroadoflife，itistraversedbymanyclassesofpeople，butthepoorandthewearypredominate。

“Keepthemain-travelledroadtillyoucometoabranchleadingoff-keeptotheright。“

INthewindlessSeptemberdawnavoicewentsinging，aman’svoice，singingacheapandcommonair。Yetsomethingintheelanofitalltoldhewasyoung，jubilant，andahappylover。

Abovethelevelbeltoftimbertotheeastavastdomeofpaleundazzlinggoldwasrising，silentlyandswiftly。Jayscalledinthethicketswherethemaplesflamedamidthegreenoaks，withirregularsplashesofredandorange。Thegrasswascrispwithfrostunderthefeet，theroadsmoothandgray-whiteincolor，theairwasindescribablysweet，resonant，andstimulating。Nowonderthemansang。

HecameIntoviewaroundthecurveinthelane。Hehadaforkonhisshoulder，agracefulandpolishedtool。Hisstrawhatwastiltedonthebackofhishead，hisrough，fadedcoatwasbuttonedclosetothechin，andheworethinbuckskinglovesonhishands。Helookedmuscularandintelligent，andwasevidentlyabouttwenty-twoor-threeyearsofage。

Ashewalkedon，andthesunrisecamenearertohim，hestoppedhissong。Thebroadeningheavenshadamajestyandsweetnessthatmadehimforgetthephysicaljoyofhappyyouth。Hegrewalmostsadwiththegreatvaguethoughtsandemotionswhichrolledinhisbrainasthewonderofthemorninggrew。

Hewalkedmoreslowly，mechanicallyfollowingtheroad，hiseyesontheever-shiftingstreamingbannersofroseandpalegreen，whichmadetheeasttoogloriousforanywordstotell。Theairwassostillitseemedtoawaitexpectantlythecomingofthesun。

ThenhismindflewbacktoAgnes。Wouldsheseeit？Shewasatwork，gettingbreakfast，buthehopedshehadtimetoseeit。Hewasinthatmoodsocommontohimnow，whenhecouldnotfullyenjoyanysightorsoundunlesshecouldshareitwithher。Fardowntheroadheheardthesharpclatterofawagon。Theroosterswerecallingnearandfar，inmanykeysandtunes。Thedogswerebarking，cattlebellsjanglinginthewoodedpastures，andastheyouthpassedfarmhouses，lightsinthekitchenwindowsshowedthatthewomenwereastiraboutbreakfast，andthesoundofvoicesandcurry-combsatthebarntoldthatthemenwereattheirdailychores。

Andtheeastbloomedbroader。Thedomeofgoldgrewbrighter，thefaintcloudshereandthereflamedwithaflushofred。Thefrostbegantoglistenwithareflectedcolor。Theyouthdreamedashewalked；hisbroadfaceanddeepearnesteyescaughtandreflectedsomeofthebeautyandmajestyofthesky。

Butashepassedafarmgateandayoungmanofabouthisownagejoinedhim，hisbrowdarkened。Theothermanwasequippedforworklikehimself。

“Hello，Will!“

“Hello，Ed!“

“GoingdowntohelpDingmanthrash？“

“Yes，“repliedWillshortly。Itwaseasytoseehedidn’twelcomecompany。

“So’mI。Who’sgoin’todoyourthrashin-DaveMcTurg？“

“Yes。，Iguessso。Haven’tspokentoanybodyyet。“

Theywalkedonsidebyside。Willdidn’tfeellikebeingrudelybrokeninoninthisway。Thetwomenwererivals，butWill，beingthevictor，wouldhavebeenmagnanimous，onlyhewantedtobealonewithhislover’sdream。

“Whendoyougobacktothesem’？“Edaskedafteralittle。

“Termbeginsnextweek。I’llmakeabreakaboutsecondweek。“

“Le’ssee：yougraduatenextyear，don’tyeh？“

“Iexpectto，ifIdon’tslipuponit。“

Theywalkedonsidebyside，bothhandsomefellows；Edalittlemoreshowyinhisface，whichhadacertainclean-cutprecisionoflineandapeculiarclearpallorthatneverbrownedunderthesun。

Hechewedvigorouslyonaquidoftobacco，oneofhismostnoticeablebadhabits。

Teamscouldbeheardclatteringalongonseveralroadsnow，andjovialvoicessinging。Oneteamcomingalongbehindthetwomen，thedriversungoutingood-naturedwarning，“Getouto’theway，there。“Andwithalaughandachirpspurredhishorsestopassthem。

Ed，withaswiftunderstandingofthedriver’strick，flungouthislefthandandcaughttheend-gate，threwhisforkin，andleapedafterit。Willwalkedon，disdainingattempttocatchthewagon。Onallsidesnowthewagonsoftheplowmenorthreshersweregettingoutintothefields，withapounding，rumblingsound。

Thepaleredsunwasshootinglightthroughtheleaves，andwarmingthebolesofthegreatoaksthatstoodintheyard，andmeltingthefrostoffthegreatgaudythreshingmachinethatstoodbetweenthestacks。Theinterest，picturesquenessofitallgotholdofWillHannan，accustomedtoitashewas。Thehomesstoodaboutinacircle，hitchedtotheendsofthesixsweeps，allshiningwithfrost。

Thedriverwasoilingthegreattarrycogwheelsunderneath。

Laughingfellowswerewrestlingabouttheyard。EdKinneyhadscaledthehigheststack，andstoodreadytothrowthefirstsheaf。

Thesun，lightinghimwherehestood，madehisforkhandlegleamlikedullgold。Cheerywords，jests，andsnatchesofsongeverywhere。Dingmanbustledaboutgivinghisordersandplacinghismen，andthevoiceofbigDaveMcTurgwasheardcallingtothemenastheyraisedthelongstackerintoplace：

“Heave-ho，there!Upsherises!“

And，bestofall，Willcaughtaglirnpseofasmilinggirlfaceatthekitchenwindowthatmadethebloodbeatmhisthroat。

“Hello，Will!“wasthegeneralgreeting，givenwithsomeconstraintbymostoftheyoungfellows，forWillhadbeengoingtoRockRivertoschoolforsomeyears，andtherewasalittlefeelingofjealousyonthepartofthosewhopretendedtosneeratthe“seminarychapslikeWillHannanandMiltonJennings。“

Dingrnancameup。“Will，Iguessyou’dbettergoonthestackwithEd。“

“Allready。Hurrah，there!“saidDavidinhissoftbutresonantbassvoicethatalwayshadalaughinit。“Come，come，everysuckerofyehgitholdo’something。Allready!“Hewavedhishandatthedriver，whoclimbeduponhisplatform。Everybodyscrambledintoplace。

“Chk，chk!Allready，boys!Stiddythere，Dan!Chk，chklAllready，boys!Stiddythere，boys!Allreadynow!“Thehorsesbegantostrainatthesweeps。Thecylinderbegantohum。

“Grabarootthere!Where’smybandcutter？Here，you，climbonhere!“AndDavidreacheddownandpulledShepWatsonupbytheshoulderwithhisgigantichand。

Boo-oo-oom，Boo-woo-woo-oom-oom-ow-owm，yarryarr!Thewhirlingcylinderboomed，roared，andsnarledasitroseinspeed。

Atlast，whenitstonebecamearattlingyell，Davidnoddedtothepitchers，raspedhishandstogether，thesheavesbegantofallfromthestack，thebandcutter，knifeinhand，slashedthebandsintwain，andthefeederwitheasymajesticmotiongatheredthemunderhisarm，rolledthemoutintoanevenbeltofenteringwheat，onwhichthecylindertorewithitsfrightful，ferocioussnarl。

WillwasveryhappyinItsquietway。Heenjoyedthesmoothrollofhisgreatmuscles，thesenseofpowerhefeltinhishandsashelifted，turned，andswungtheheavysheavestwobytwodownuponthetable，wherethebandcuttermadlyslashedaway。Hisframe，sturdyratherthantall，wasneverthelesslithe，andhemadeafinefiguretolookat，soAgnesthought，asshecameoutamomentandbowedandsmiledtoboththeyoungmen。

Thisscene，oneofthejolliestandmostsociableofthewesternfarm，hadacharmquiteasidefromhumancompanionship。Thebeautifulyellowstrawenteringthecylinder；theclearyellow-brownwheatpulsingoutattheside；thebrokenstraw，chaff，anddustpuffingoutonthegreatstacker；thecheerywhistlingandcallingofthedriver；thekeen，crispair，andthebrightsunsomehowweirdlysuggestiveofthepassageoftime。

WillandAgneshadarrivedatatacitunderstandingofmutualloveonlythenightbefore，andWillwaspower-fullymovedtoglanceoftentowardthehouse，butfearedsomehowthejokesofhiscompanions。Heworkedon，therefore，methodically，eagerly；buthisthoughtswereonthefuture-therustleoftheoaktreenearby，thenoiseofwhosesereleaveshecoulddistinguishbeneaththeboomingsnarlofthemachine；onthesky，wheregreatfleetsofcloudsweresailingontherisingwind，likemerchantmenboundtosomelandofloveandplenty。

WhentheDingmansfirstcamein，onlyacoupleofyearsbefore，Agneshadbeenatoncesurroundedbyaswarmofsuitors。Herpleasantfaceandheraboundinggoodnaturemadeheraninstantfavoritewithall。Will，however，haddisdainedtobecomeoneofthecrowd，andheldhimselfaloof，ashecouldeasilydo，beingawayatschoolmostofthetime。