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158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
137
You
walk
out,
resoundingly,
to
the
kitchen
and
open
the
door.
You
look
across
the
still
white
fields.
Your
barn
looms
black
in
the
near
distance,
the
white
mound
close
at
hand
is
your
wood-pile,
the
great
trees
stand
like
sentinels
in
the
moonlight;
snow
has
drifted
upon
the
doorstep
and
lies
there
untracked.
It
is,
indeed,
a
dim
and
untracked
world:
coldly
beautiful
but
silent--and
of
a
strange
unreality!
You
close
the
door
with
half
a
shiver
and
take
the
real
world
with
you
up
to
bed.
For
it
is
past
one
o'clock.
XIII
THE
POLITICIAN
In
the
city,
as
I
now
recall
it
(having
escaped),
it
seemed
to
be
the
instinctive
purpose
of
every
citizen
I
knew
not
to
get
into
politics
but
to
keep
out.
We
sedulously
avoided
caucuses
and
school-meetings,
our
time
was
far
too
precious
to
be
squandered
in
jury
service,
we
forgot
to
register
for
elections,
we
neglected
to
vote.
We
observed
a
sort
of
aristocratic
contempt
for
political
activity
and
then
fretted
and
fumed
over
the
low
estate
to
which
our
government
had
fallen--and
never
saw
the
humour
of
it
all.
At
one
time
I
experienced
a
sort
of
political
awakening:
a
"boss"
we
had
was
more
than
ordinarily
piratical.
I
think
he
had
a
scheme
to
steal
the
city
hall
and
sell
the
monuments
in
the
park
(something
of
that
sort),
and
I,
for
one,
was
disturbed.
For
a
time
I
really
wanted
to
bear
a
man's
part
in
helping
to
correct
the
abuses,
only
I
did
not
know
how
and
could
not
find
out.
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