; he was going to be a
Geologist. What did he care for any paltry details by the way?

He seated himself for his noon meal, the last crumbling sandwich of his
store, at the foot of a big pine-tree, just where the pass narrows to a
wild ravine. As he took out the slice of bread and meat neatly wrapped
about with brown paper, his thoughts reverted with a certain sore
compunction to the hand that had prepared it for him. It had been his
mother's farewell service, and he somehow realized now as he had not
realized at the time, how much all those careful preparations meant, to
her and to himself. He remembered how, late Saturday night, she had sat
mending a new rip in his best coat, and that when she pricked her
finger, and a little bead of red blood had to be disposed of before she
could go on with the work, he had wondered why women were always
pricking their fingers when there was no need. It was not until the very
moment of departure that the pain of it seized him. His mother was a
quiet, undemonstrative woman of the New England race, and if mother and
son loved each other,--as it now transpired that they did,--no mention
had ever been made of the fact on either side. The consequence was, that
when, at parting, an iron hand seemed to be gripping the boy's throat,
he had been so taken at unawares, that he had found it impossible to
articulate a single word. On the mother's part there had been one
little, half-suppressed sob that sounded in his ears yet. It left an
ache in him that he did not at first know what to do with, but which
clearly called for heroic treatment. Accordingly, after much pondering
the situation, he had adopted a great resolution,--a resolution which
involved no less arduous a task than that of writing a letter to his
mother and telling her that he loved her. He thought it possible that
the confession might give her pleasure, coming from a safe distance and
involving no immediate consequences, and in any case he did not feel
justified in keeping to himself a discovery which so nearly concerned
another person. He had thought a good deal about the letter and of how
he should approach the subject, and he had about decided to make the
momentous statement in a postscript down in one corner and to sign it
"Waldy."

He was so near his journey's end that he allowed himself rather a longer
nooning than usual. He stretched himself on his back on the pine
needles, and with his hands clasped behind his head, he g