Blessed is
the country boy for many reasons, but for none more than this, that the
world of living and growing things, animate and inanimate, is one which
he has explored and which he intimately knows; and blessed is the city
boy for whom his wise parents provide means of acquaintance with this
wonder workshop of old mother Nature, God's own open country.
Turnip-hoeing is an art, a fine art, demanding all the talents of high
genius, a true eye, a sure hand, a sensitive conscience, industry,
courage, endurance, and pride in achievement. These and other gifts
are necessary to high success. Not to every man is it given to become a
turnip-hoer in the truest sense of that word. The art is achieved only
after long and patient devotion, and, indeed, many never attain high
excellence. Of course, therefore, there are grades of artists in this as
in other departments. There are turnip-hoers and turnip-hoers, just as
there are painters and painters. It was Tim's ambition to be the first
turnip-hoer of his district, and toward this end he had striven both
last season and this with a devotion that deserved, if it did not
achieve, success. Quietly he had been patterning himself upon that
master artist, Perkins, who for some years had easily held the
championship for the district. Keenly Tim had been observing Perkins'
excellencies and also his defects; secretly he had been developing a
style of his own, and, all unnoted, he had tested his speed by that of
Perkins by adopting the method of lazily loafing along and then catching
up by a few minutes of whirlwind work.
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