Half-CenturyPilgrimageontheMain-TravelledRoadofLifeHasBroughtThemOnlyToilandDeprivation，ThisBookofStoriesIsDedicatedByaSontoWhomEveryDayBringsaDeepeningSenseofHisParents’SilentHeroismTableofContentsPrefaceABranchRoadUptheCouleeAmongtheCornRowsTheReturnofaPrivateUndertheLion’sPawTheCreameryManADay’sPleasureMrsRipley’sTripUncleEthanRipleyGod’sRavensA“GoodFellow’s“Wife
Inthesummerof1887，afterhavingbeenthreeyearsinBostonandsixyearsabsentfrommyoldhomeinnorthernIowa，IfoundmyselfwithmoneyenoughtopaymyrailwayfaretoOrdway，SouthDakota，wheremyfatherandmotherwereliving，andasitcostverylittleextratogobywayofDubuqueandCharlesCity，
plannedtovisitOsage，Iowa，andthefarmwehadopenedonDryRunprairiein
UptothistimeIhadwrittenonlyafewpoemsandsomearticlesdescriptiveofboylifeontheprairie，althoughIwasdoingagooddealofthinkingandlecturingonlandreform，andwasregardedasaveryintense-discipleofHerbertSpencerandHenryGeorgeasingularcombination，asIseeitnow。Onmywaywestward，thatsummerdayin1887，rurallifepresenteditselffromanentirelynewangle。Theugliness，theendlessdrudgery，andthelonelinessofthefarmer’slotsmotemewithsterninsistence。Iwasthemilitantreformer。
ThefartherIgotfromChicagothemoredepressingthelandscapebecame。ItwasbadenoughinourformerhomeinMitchellCounty，butmypitygrewmoreintenseasIpassedfromnorthwestIowaintosouthernDakota。Thehouses，bareasboxes，droppedonthetreelessplains，thebarbed-wirefencesrunningatrightangles，andthetownsmereassemblagesofflimsywoodenshedswithpainted-pinebattlement，producedonmetheeffectofanalmosthelplessandsterilepoverty。
Mydarkmoodwasdeepenedintobitternessbymyfather’sfarm，whereIfoundmymotherimprisonedinasmallcabinontheenormoussunburned，treelessplain，withnoexpectationofeverlivinganywhereelse。Desertedbyhersonsandfailinginhealth，sheenduredthediscomfortsofherlifeuncomplainingly-butmyresentmentof“thingsastheyare“deepenedduringmytalkswithherneighbors，whowereallhousedinthesameunshadedcabinsinequalpovertyandloneliness。Thefactthatattwenty-sevenIwaswithoutpowertoaidmymotherinanysubstantialwayaddedtomydespairingmood。
MysavingsforthetwoyearsofmyteachinginBostonwerenotsufficienttoenablemetopurchasemyreturnticket，andwhenmyfatherofferedmeastacker’swagesintheharvestfieldIacceptedandfortwoweeksormoreprovedmyworthwiththefork，whichwasstillmightier-withme-thanthepen。
However，Ididnotentirelyneglectthepen。InspiteofthedustandheatofthewheatrieksIdreamedofpoemsandstories。Mymindteemedwithsubjectsforfiction，andoneSundaymorningIsettoworkonastorywhichhadbeensuggestedtomebyatalkwithmymother，andafewhourslaterIreadtoherseatedonthelowsillofthattreelesscottagethefirsttwothousandwordsof“Mrs。
Ripley’sTrip，“thefirstoftheseriesofsketcheswhichbecameMain-TravelledRoads。
Ididnotsucceedinfinishingit，however，tillaftermyreturntoBostoninSeptember。Duringthefallandwinterof’87andthewinterandspringof’88，IwrotethemostofthestoriesinMain-TravelledRoads，anovelettefortheCenturyMagazine，andaplaycalled“UndertheWheel。“TheactualworkofthecompositionwascarriedonthesouthatticroomofDoctorCross’shouseat21SeavernsAvenue，JamaicaPlain。
Themoodofbitternessinwhichthesebookswerewrittenwasrenewedandaugmentedbyasecondvisittomyparentsin1889，forduringmystaymymothersufferedastrokeofparalysisduetooverworkandthedreadfulheatofthesummer。ShegrewbetterbeforethetimecameformetoreturntomyteachinginBoston，butIfeltlikeasneakasItookmywaytothetrain，leavingmymotherandsisteronthatbleakandsun-bakedplain。
“OldPapsFlaxen，““JasonEdwards，““ASpoilofOffice，“andmostofthestoriesgatheredintothesecondvolumeofMain-TravelledRoadswerewrittenintheshadowofthesedefeats。
Iftheyseemundulyaustere，letthereaderrememberthetimesinwhichtheywerecomposed。ThattheyweretrueofthefarmsofthatdaynoonecanknowbetterthanI，forIwasthere-afarmer。
LifeonthefarmsofIowaandWisconsin-evenonthefarmsofDakota-hasgainedinbeautyandsecurity，Iwilladmit，buttherearestillwidestretchesofterritoryinKansasandNebraskawherethefarmhouseisalonelyshelter。Grovesandlawns，betterroads，theruralfreedelivery，thetelephone，andthemotorcarhavedonemuchtobringthefarmerintoaframeofmindwhereheiscontentedwithhislot，butmuchremainstobedonebeforethestreamofyounglifefromthecountrytothecitycanbechecked。
ThetwovolumesofMain-TravelledRoadscannowbetakentobewhatWilliamDeanHowellscalledthem，“historicalfiction，“fortheyformarecordofthefarmer’slifeasIliveditandstudiedit。Inthesetwobooksisarecordoftheprivationsandhardshipsofthemenandwomenwhosubduedthemidlandwildernessandpreparedthewayforthepresentgoldenageofagriculture。
Themain-travelledroadintheWestaseverywhereishotanddustyinsummer，anddesolateanddrearwithmudinfallandspring，andinwinterthewindssweepthesnowacrossit；butitdoessometimescrossarichmeadowwherethesongsofthelarksandbobolinksandblackbirdsaretangled。Followitfarenough，itmayleadpastabendintheriverwherethewaterlaughseternallyoveritsshallows。
Mainlyitislongandwearyfulandhasadulllittletownatoneend，andahomeoftoilattheother。Likethemain-travelledroadoflife，itistraversedbymanyclassesofpeople，butthepoorandthewearypredominate。
“Keepthemain-travelledroadtillyoucometoabranchleadingoff-keeptotheright。“
INthewindlessSeptemberdawnavoicewentsinging，aman’svoice，singingacheapandcommonair。Yetsomethingintheelanofitalltoldhewasyoung，jubilant，andahappylover。
Abovethelevelbeltoftimbertotheeastavastdomeofpaleundazzlinggoldwasrising，silentlyandswiftly。Jayscalledinthethicketswherethemaplesflamedamidthegreenoaks，withirregularsplashesofredandorange。Thegrasswascrispwithfrostunderthefeet，theroadsmoothandgray-whiteincolor，theairwasindescribablysweet，resonant，andstimulating。Nowonderthemansang。
HecameIntoviewaroundthecurveinthelane。Hehadaforkonhisshoulder，agracefulandpolishedtool。Hisstrawhatwastiltedonthebackofhishead，hisrough，fadedcoatwasbuttonedclosetothechin，andheworethinbuckskinglovesonhishands。Helookedmuscularandintelligent，andwasevidentlyabouttwenty-twoor-threeyearsofage。
Ashewalkedon，andthesunrisecamenearertohim，hestoppedhissong。Thebroadeningheavenshadamajestyandsweetnessthatmadehimforgetthephysicaljoyofhappyyouth。Hegrewalmostsadwiththegreatvaguethoughtsandemotionswhichrolledinhisbrainasthewonderofthemorninggrew。
Hewalkedmoreslowly，mechanicallyfollowingtheroad，hiseyesontheever-shiftingstreamingbannersofroseandpalegreen，whichmadetheeasttoogloriousforanywordstotell。Theairwassostillitseemedtoawaitexpectantlythecomingofthesun。
ThenhismindflewbacktoAgnes。Wouldsheseeit？Shewasatwork，gettingbreakfast，buthehopedshehadtimetoseeit。Hewasinthatmoodsocommontohimnow，whenhecouldnotfullyenjoyanysightorsoundunlesshecouldshareitwithher。Fardowntheroadheheardthesharpclatterofawagon。Theroosterswerecallingnearandfar，inmanykeysandtunes。Thedogswerebarking，cattlebellsjanglinginthewoodedpastures，andastheyouthpassedfarmhouses，lightsinthekitchenwindowsshowedthatthewomenwereastiraboutbreakfast，andthesoundofvoicesandcurry-combsatthebarntoldthatthemenwereattheirdailychores。
Andtheeastbloomedbroader。Thedomeofgoldgrewbrighter，thefaintcloudshereandthereflamedwithaflushofred。Thefrostbegantoglistenwithareflectedcolor。Theyouthdreamedashewalked；hisbroadfaceanddeepearnesteyescaughtandreflectedsomeofthebeautyandmajestyofthesky。
Butashepassedafarmgateandayoungmanofabouthisownagejoinedhim，hisbrowdarkened。Theothermanwasequippedforworklikehimself。
“Hello，Will!“
“Hello，Ed!“
“GoingdowntohelpDingmanthrash？“
“Yes，“repliedWillshortly。Itwaseasytoseehedidn’twelcomecompany。
“So’mI。Who’sgoin’todoyourthrashin-DaveMcTurg？“
“Yes。，Iguessso。Haven’tspokentoanybodyyet。“
Theywalkedonsidebyside。Willdidn’tfeellikebeingrudelybrokeninoninthisway。Thetwomenwererivals，butWill，beingthevictor，wouldhavebeenmagnanimous，onlyhewantedtobealonewithhislover’sdream。
“Whendoyougobacktothesem’？“Edaskedafteralittle。
“Termbeginsnextweek。I’llmakeabreakaboutsecondweek。“
“Le’ssee：yougraduatenextyear，don’tyeh？“
“Iexpectto，ifIdon’tslipuponit。“
Theywalkedonsidebyside，bothhandsomefellows；Edalittlemoreshowyinhisface，whichhadacertainclean-cutprecisionoflineandapeculiarclearpallorthatneverbrownedunderthesun。
Hechewedvigorouslyonaquidoftobacco，oneofhismostnoticeablebadhabits。
Teamscouldbeheardclatteringalongonseveralroadsnow，andjovialvoicessinging。Oneteamcomingalongbehindthetwomen，thedriversungoutingood-naturedwarning，“Getouto’theway，there。“Andwithalaughandachirpspurredhishorsestopassthem。
Ed，withaswiftunderstandingofthedriver’strick，flungouthislefthandandcaughttheend-gate，threwhisforkin，andleapedafterit。Willwalkedon，disdainingattempttocatchthewagon。Onallsidesnowthewagonsoftheplowmenorthreshersweregettingoutintothefields，withapounding，rumblingsound。
Thepaleredsunwasshootinglightthroughtheleaves，andwarmingthebolesofthegreatoaksthatstoodintheyard，andmeltingthefrostoffthegreatgaudythreshingmachinethatstoodbetweenthestacks。Theinterest，picturesquenessofitallgotholdofWillHannan，accustomedtoitashewas。Thehomesstoodaboutinacircle，hitchedtotheendsofthesixsweeps，allshiningwithfrost。
Thedriverwasoilingthegreattarrycogwheelsunderneath。
Laughingfellowswerewrestlingabouttheyard。EdKinneyhadscaledthehigheststack，andstoodreadytothrowthefirstsheaf。
Thesun，lightinghimwherehestood，madehisforkhandlegleamlikedullgold。Cheerywords，jests，andsnatchesofsongeverywhere。Dingmanbustledaboutgivinghisordersandplacinghismen，andthevoiceofbigDaveMcTurgwasheardcallingtothemenastheyraisedthelongstackerintoplace：
“Heave-ho，there!Upsherises!“
And，bestofall，Willcaughtaglirnpseofasmilinggirlfaceatthekitchenwindowthatmadethebloodbeatmhisthroat。
“Hello，Will!“wasthegeneralgreeting，givenwithsomeconstraintbymostoftheyoungfellows，forWillhadbeengoingtoRockRivertoschoolforsomeyears，andtherewasalittlefeelingofjealousyonthepartofthosewhopretendedtosneeratthe“seminarychapslikeWillHannanandMiltonJennings。“
Dingrnancameup。“Will，Iguessyou’dbettergoonthestackwithEd。“
“Allready。Hurrah，there!“saidDavidinhissoftbutresonantbassvoicethatalwayshadalaughinit。“Come，come，everysuckerofyehgitholdo’something。Allready!“Hewavedhishandatthedriver，whoclimbeduponhisplatform。Everybodyscrambledintoplace。
“Chk，chk!Allready，boys!Stiddythere，Dan!Chk，chklAllready，boys!Stiddythere，boys!Allreadynow!“Thehorsesbegantostrainatthesweeps。Thecylinderbegantohum。
“Grabarootthere!Where’smybandcutter？Here，you，climbonhere!“AndDavidreacheddownandpulledShepWatsonupbytheshoulderwithhisgigantichand。
Boo-oo-oom，Boo-woo-woo-oom-oom-ow-owm，yarryarr!Thewhirlingcylinderboomed，roared，andsnarledasitroseinspeed。
Atlast，whenitstonebecamearattlingyell，Davidnoddedtothepitchers，raspedhishandstogether，thesheavesbegantofallfromthestack，thebandcutter，knifeinhand，slashedthebandsintwain，andthefeederwitheasymajesticmotiongatheredthemunderhisarm，rolledthemoutintoanevenbeltofenteringwheat，onwhichthecylindertorewithitsfrightful，ferocioussnarl。
WillwasveryhappyinItsquietway。Heenjoyedthesmoothrollofhisgreatmuscles，thesenseofpowerhefeltinhishandsashelifted，turned，andswungtheheavysheavestwobytwodownuponthetable，wherethebandcuttermadlyslashedaway。Hisframe，sturdyratherthantall，wasneverthelesslithe，andhemadeafinefiguretolookat，soAgnesthought，asshecameoutamomentandbowedandsmiledtoboththeyoungmen。
Thisscene，oneofthejolliestandmostsociableofthewesternfarm，hadacharmquiteasidefromhumancompanionship。Thebeautifulyellowstrawenteringthecylinder；theclearyellow-brownwheatpulsingoutattheside；thebrokenstraw，chaff，anddustpuffingoutonthegreatstacker；thecheerywhistlingandcallingofthedriver；thekeen，crispair，andthebrightsunsomehowweirdlysuggestiveofthepassageoftime。
WillandAgneshadarrivedatatacitunderstandingofmutualloveonlythenightbefore，andWillwaspower-fullymovedtoglanceoftentowardthehouse，butfearedsomehowthejokesofhiscompanions。Heworkedon，therefore，methodically，eagerly；buthisthoughtswereonthefuture-therustleoftheoaktreenearby，thenoiseofwhosesereleaveshecoulddistinguishbeneaththeboomingsnarlofthemachine；onthesky，wheregreatfleetsofcloudsweresailingontherisingwind，likemerchantmenboundtosomelandofloveandplenty。
WhentheDingmansfirstcamein，onlyacoupleofyearsbefore，Agneshadbeenatoncesurroundedbyaswarmofsuitors。Herpleasantfaceandheraboundinggoodnaturemadeheraninstantfavoritewithall。Will，however，haddisdainedtobecomeoneofthecrowd，andheldhimselfaloof，ashecouldeasilydo，beingawayatschoolmostofthetime。