wood-thrush over there. She's up in the cherry tree; or perhaps it's a
he, and probably there's a nest somewhere with dear little fellows just
hatched out. Isn't it lovely?"

My enthusiasm was just as great as her own. There seemed to be
altogether too many beautiful things to do, and to look at, and to allow
to soak into one, like some penetrating water from the fountain of
youth.

"I'm so glad you like it, Frances," I told her.

And so we spent a heavenly day, and, in the morning, I took the early
train and went back to the city, Frances looking rather regretfully at
me. But I had decided that I must not remain there; it would not do. One
evening after another, of moonlit glory, of whispering winds bearing
fragrance and delight, of nearness to this wonderful woman with the
heart of a child and the beauty of a goddess, endowed with that voice
sounding like melodies from on high, must surely break down my courage.
How could I stand it day after day? No, I intended to return for
weekends, propped up by new resolve to be silent. A chill would come
over me at the idea of suddenly blurting out my love to her and having
her look at me as she once gazed on Gordon, perhaps even more
sorrowfully, because I think I have become a more valued friend.

I explained to her that I had some most important work to do and
imagined all sorts of meetings with publishers. Also a moving-picture
gentleman had thrown out dark hints. The atmosphere of the blazing city,
I told her, was utterly needed for my new book. All she had to do was to
be very patient, grow strong and brown, watch Baby Paul thrive, and
await my coming on Saturday afternoons. In the meanwhile I would send
her books and magazines, besides a button hook she had forgotten, and a
package of the tea we were partial to, and--and a week was an
exceedingly short space of time.

So I said good-by and waved my hand at the turning in the road, and
returned to the big city, which I could, without much regret, have seen
reduced to the condition of Sodom and Gomorrha, since it would have
given me a good excuse to take the next train back.

Upon entering my room, I decided that it was a beastly hole. So hateful
did it seem that I strolled off into the opposite one. It seemed like a
rather sneaking and underhanded thing to do and, I dare say, I had some
of the feelings of a burglar. My old piano was there, upon which she
played softly and sang exercises that were perfectly beautifu