Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

A sluggish creek filled with Arrowhead, in full bloom – a group of four or five wild duck (dark gray) scatter at my approach. One lingers and scolds me all the time I stayed. Pick a bouquet of the lilies. Great bull-frogs – they gave a peculiar cry as the dove into the water. ; Above Emporium, I pick up a boy. I had driven past him, not knowing whether he was a full grown man or boy (I will not pick up grown men) but something in his face appealed to me as I went past and I stopped. ; He told me he was 13, and the he asked me if I lived on a farm. He was looking for work on a farm; by w he had managed so far this summer to earn enough to buy himself some shoes, a pair of pants for school and a shirt or two and some underwear. Now he wanted to get some clothes for his younger brother. His father walked worked, but “didn’t earn very much” (which hi as he said which his voice receded as tho he instantly regretted which might seem like a disparagement of his parent. His mother was not well. ; He introduced himself finally as Thomas Gibbs, and when I revealed my name he said “Please to meet you” – ; He had a boy’s naïve belief that his world, known to himself well, must be known to everyone. Tho I told him I came from Buffalo (over 100 miles away) he mentioned several neighbors and asked if I knew them. Also, if I heard of any farmers where I lived who needed help to let him know.; His destination was a mile or so outside of Emporium. ; The encounter left me in a glow, and with a renewed faith in