The Blithedale Romance by Nathaniel Hawthorne Chapter 12 Page 6

will begin to prick us with the goad-stick, by and by. But are we his oxen? And what right has he to be the driver? And why, when there is enough else to do, should we waste our strength in dragging home the ponderous load of his philanthropic absurdities? At my height above the earth, the whole matter looks ridiculous!”

Turning towards the farmhouse, I saw Priscilla (for, though a great way off, the eye of faith assured me that it was she) sitting at Zenobia’s window, and making little purses, I suppose; or, perhaps, mending the Community’s old linen.

A bird flew past my tree; and, as it clove its way onward into the sunny atmosphere, I flung it a message for Priscilla.

“Tell her,” said I, “that her fragile