"Do you mind if I pause for a moment to catch a few whiffs of sunshine? Whosoever's idea it was to make the sun rise in splendor over little farms was certainly a great inventor."
Jethro paused. "It is a rather fine morning," he agreed. "Is there anything I can do for you for I see you are a stranger in this locality?"
The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well," he reflected, "'if you truly want to do something for me you might talk with me. I am a chance wayfarer, a gentleman of the road, in more vulgar parlance I might be called a tramp. But I do not admit it. According to established classification a tramp is a worthless fellow. This is not always true. He may take the road because he wishes to be free, not to be tied down by any of the man-made bonds of earth. He loves the out-of-doors, the clear free life of it. The smell of hay with now and then a cottage nestling in a hollow with smoke trailing gracefully up from the chimney like long white fingers beckoning to him.
Perhaps hundreds of men who remain slaves
