[Smith’s Farm—Sunday, 24 September 1871]
Sunday 24. Dear J. and I rambled over the wide pasture of Smith’s farm and sat under the umbrella tree and by our ravine until dinner—read “The Artist’s wife” aloud to him and he some scraps of Wordsworth to me.
There are two married people here boarding until tomorrow of a class we are seldom brought in contact with. The wife talks, “yer see we haven’t ben away before this summer, for the ’pothecary bisness is a drivin’ one in the summer time and we couldn’t get a chance fer a vacation.” She is bright and reads many good books which we see about in the parlor below, wears a decent dress, fitly made but hands of doubtful cleanliness. Husband ditto though he is more modest and less sharp.
Agreeable, could hardly be the word to apply to them—but we are not disturbed, perhaps rather amused by their proximity. They appear to be heirs of some portion of this great farm which will be a fortune to somebody by and by.
