It was nailed to
a tree where those in swift passing cars could not avoid seeing
it:
[ REST ]
I cannot describe the odd sense of enlivenment, of pleasure I had
when I saw this new sign.
"Rest!" I exclaimed aloud. "Indeed I will," and I sat down on a
stone not far away.
"Rest!"
What a sign for this very spot! Here in the midst of the haste
and hurry of the Great Road a quiet voice was saying,"Rest." Some
one with imagination, I thought, evidently put that up; some
quietist offering this mild protest against the breathless
progress of the age. How often I have felt the same way
myself--as though I were being swept onward through life faster
than I could well enjoy it. For nature passes the dishes far more
rapidly than we can help ourselves.
Or perhaps, thought I, eagerly speculating, this may be only some
cunning advertiser with rest for sale (in these days even rest
has its price), thus piquing the curiosity of the traveller for
the disclosure which he will make a mile or so farther on. Or
else some humourist wasting his wit upon the Fraternity of the
Road, too willing (like me, perhaps) to accept his ironical
advice. But it would be well worth while should I find him, to
see him chuckle behind his hand.
So I sat there very much interested, for a long time, even
framing a rather amusing picture in my own mind of the sort of
person who painted these signs, deciding finally that he must be
a zealot rather than a trader or humourist.
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