thought that I should ever drop out of this attractive, satisfying life,
never seriously occurred to me, though I was conscious of a strong and
persistent force that urged me toward the soil. By choice and by
training I was a physician, and I gloried in my work; but by instinct I
was, am, and always shall be, a farmer. All my life I have had visions
of farms with flocks and herds, but I did not expect to realize my
visions until I came on earth a second time.

I would never have given up my profession voluntarily; but when it gave
me up, I had to accept the dismissal, surrender my ambitions, and fall
back upon my primary instinct for diversion and happiness. The dismissal
came without warning, like the fall of a tree when no wind shakes the
forest, but it was imperative and peremptory. The doctors (and they were
among the best in the land) said, "No more of this kind of work for
years," and I had to accept their verdict, though I knew that "for
years" meant forever.

My disappointment lasted longer than the acute attack; but, thanks to
the cheerful spirit of my wife, by early summer of that year I was able
to face the situation with courage that grew as strength increased.
Fortunately we were well to do, and the loss of professional income was
not a serious matter. We were not rich as wealth is counted nowadays;
but we were more than comfortable for ourselves and our children, though
I should never earn another dollar. This is not the common state of the
physician, who gives more and gets less than most other men; it was
simply a happy combination of circumstances. Polly was a small heiress
when we married; I had some money from my maternal grandfather; our
income was larger than our necessities, and our investments had been
fortunate. Fate had set no wolf to howl at our door.