ing acquaintance, and that
the ends of the earth were the only happy hunting grounds for a wild
spirit like mine--places where I could freely dive far down under the
surface of myself and swim at ease. Birds in the hand had no brightness
of plumage for me. They were always moulting. I coveted the ones that
sang farthest away in the bush. "Why have a mad desire to become an
ancestor for people you don't know and may dislike?" I think I remember
inquiring of you, as you sagely dilated--at ancient Smithtown--on the
notable achievements of a certain Bull Rider Smith for the benefits of
his posterity. He was doubtless a smart business man and a good
sportsman, to gallop so far and fast on such an animal, when told he
could have all the road he could ride round on bull-back in the course
of a day. But to me his ambitions seemed futile, and the whole of Long
Island less important than a flyspeck on the map of the world. Now, I
shouldn't mind spending my life here, even in _the_ house, though I
should prefer an old one; and the Smithtown church with its Cyclopian
eye of a clock in a tall Puritanical steeple would exactly suit me to be
married in.

As we bowled along the Middle Island Country Road _she_ wanted to know
if I had ever driven there before. I had to say "yes" (I couldn't lie to
her), and then she asked an embarrassing question or two. But she was
almost pathetically easy to put off, so afraid she was of being
overcurious. I would have given a good deal to burst out with the whole
truth, in that mood of mine, a mood of exaltation with my soul flaming
up like a beacon. But even if I'd seriously thought of speaking, I
couldn't with the back of the car boiling over with handsome giantesses
from Colorado--goddesses from the Garden of the Gods. They were pretty
good about not interrupting; but now and again they couldn't resist
breaking in with "Oh, _is_ it our dear old Peconic River again, that
gives the name to Riverhead?" or, "_Did_ they call it Jamesport after
King James the Second of England?" or, "_Can_ those beautiful black
trees in front of that _darling_ white house be Irish yews?" or,
"_Don't_ you think Southold's the most adorable old town we've seen
_yet_?" Of course, if my companion on the front seat had catechized me
in this way, I should have been charmed to give her all my feeble fund
of information concerning Huguenot and English settlers, dates, etc.
(fortunately 1648 will do in most instances!), but it w