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158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
21
"I
have
rarely,"
he
said,
"seen
a
finer
display
of
rudbeckia
than
this,
along
these
old
fences."
If
he
had
referred
to
me,
or
questioned,
or
apologised,
I
should
have
been
disappointed.
He
did
not
say,
"your
fences,"
he
said
"these
fences,"
as
though
they
were
as
much
his
as
mine.
And
he
spoke
in
his
own
world,
knowing
that
if
I
could
enter
I
would,
but
that
if
I
could
not,
no
stooping
to
me
would
avail
either
of
us.
"It
has
been
a
good
autumn
for
flowers,"
I
said
inanely,
for
so
many
things
were
flying
through
my
mind
that
I
could
not
at
once
think
of
the
great
particular
words
which
should
bring
us
together.
At
first
I
thought
my
chance
had
passed,
but
he
seemed
to
see
something
in
me
after
all,
for
he
said:
"Here
is
a
peculiarly
large
specimen
of
the
rudbeckia.
Observe
the
deep
purple
of
the
cone,
and
the
bright
yellow
of
the
petals.
Here
is
another
that
grew
hardly
two
feet
away,
in
the
grass
near
the
fence
where
the
rails
and
the
blackberry
bushes
have
shaded
it.
How
small
and
undeveloped
it
is."
"They
crowd
up
to
the
plowed
land,"
I
observed.
"Yes,
they
reach
out
for
a
better
chance
in
life--like
men.
With
more
room,
better
food,
freer
air,
you
see
how
much
finer
they
grow."
It
was
curious
to
me,
having
hitherto
barely
observed
the
cone-flowers
along
my
fences,
save
as
a
colour
of
beauty,
how
simply
we
fell
to
talking
of
them
as
though
in
truth
they
were
people
like
ourselves,
having
our
desires
and
possessed
of
our
capabilities.
It
gave
me
then,
for
the
first
time,
the
feeling
which
has
since
meant
such
varied
enjoyment,
of
the
peopling
of
the
woods.
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