unhook their team. The leader throws off his coat and stands thick and
muscular in his blue jeans--a roistering fellow with a red face, thick
neck and chapped hands.

"I'll pass 'em up," he says; "that's a man's work. You stand in the
wagon and put 'em in."

So he springs into the yard and the sheep huddle close into the corner,
here and there raising a timid head, here and there darting aside in a
panic.

"Hi there, it's for you," shouts the leader, and thrusts his hands deep
in the wool of one of the ewes.

"Come up here, you Southdown with the bare belly," says the man in the
wagon.

"That's my old game--wrastling," the leader remarks, struggling with the
next ewe. "Stiddy, stiddy, now I got you, up with you dang you!"

"That's the idee," says the man in the wagon.

So I watch and they pass up the sheep one by one and as I go down the
road I hear the leader's thick voice, "Stiddy, stiddy," and the response
of the other, "That's the idee." And so on into the gray day!

My Open Road leads not only to beauty, not only to fresh adventures in
outer observation. I believe in the Open Road in religion, in education,
in politics: there is nothing really settled, fenced in, nor finally
decided upon this earth, Nothing that is not questionable. I do not