g. I could feel the warm,
sweet air of spring blowing in, I could hear the pleasant, subdued
noises from the barnyard, and by leaning just a little back I could see
the hens lazily fluffing their feathers in the sunny doorway of the
barn. I love such mornings.

The tender new shoots of the Virginia creeper were uncurling themselves
at the window ledge and feeling their way upward toward freedom--and
Nort put his head in among them.

"Hello, David!"

Though I had just been thinking of him, the sound of his voice startled
me. I looked around and saw him smiling very much in his old way.

"Nort, you rascal!" said I.

[Illustration: "I couldn't stay away another minute. I had to know what
the old Captain said and did when the flying-machine came to Hempfield"]

"David," he said, "I couldn't stay away another minute. I had to know
what the old Captain said and did when the flying-machine came to
Hempfield."

"Is that all you came back for?"

"May I come in?" And with that he climbed in at the window. I took him
by both his shoulders and looked him in the eye. I had a curious sense
of gladness in having him once more under my hand.

"You look thin, Nort, but I haven't any pity or sympathy for you. What
have you been up to now?"

We both forgot all about the flying-machine.

"Well, David," said he, "I've been finding out some things I didn't know
before--some things I can't do."

He was in a mood wholly unfamiliar to me, a sort of restrained, sad,
philosophical mood.

"You know," he continued, "I had a great idea for a novel----"

He paused and looked up at me, smiling rather sheepishly.

"Well, I started it----"

"You have!"

"Yes, I got the first two paragraphs written. And there I stuck. You see
I didn't know where to get hold; and then I thought I'd jump right into
the middle of the action, where it was hottest and most interesting--but
I found that my hero insisted on explaining everything to the heroine,
and wouldn't _do_ anything, and then, when I tried to think how I should
have it all come out, I found it didn't have any end, either. I leave it
to you, David, how any man is going to write a novel which he can
neither get into nor get out of?"

His face wore such a rueful, humorous look that I laughed aloud.

"It looks funny, I know," he said, "but it's really no laughing matter.
It seems to me I'm a complete fizzle."

"At twenty-five, Nort! And all this beautiful world around you! Why,
you'v