lsing heart. (I wonder if the dear boys had already invented that
lovely Yale yell, and gave it in Washington's honour?) Benedict Arnold
helped also to write the romance of the Green by drawing up his company
there. The great elms which look down on it now must have seen him and
perhaps read his treacherous mind, for they say the elms of New Haven
are the most intelligent and learned anywhere in New England except at
Harvard itself; and you know that knot-holes are trees' eyes. They don't
tell this to any one save their most intimate friends, but Jack and I
know tree language. At home in the park we put our ears against their
trunks and listen in the spring, when they are most talkative and don't
mind telling their best secrets.

The brown and red Yale buildings, restful and interesting, Jack and I
loved, and we insisted on lingering to look at them, though every one
was impatient with us except Pat, Peter, and the three dear bareheaded
Boys. Peter thought the beautiful white library and its surroundings
"like a vista of Washington seen through a diminishing glass"; so
evidently he has been to Washington in his mysterious past!

If some of us hadn't suffered from motoritis and speeditis rather badly
we should have pottered about half the day, but ours is a hard
procession to manage. Besides, Ed Caspian hates to have Pat interested
in things, because then he's obliged to get out and look at them with
her, or risk her in Peter's society. This danger he runs only when he
can't run himself. He is so proud of his well-shaped feet that he has
his boots made too small, and if the weather is warm it's a real penance
for him to walk far. There's really something _pathetic_ about this, or
would be were Caspian only a little less bumptious than he is, for if
gossip tells the truth, the millionaire of to-day was once one of those
sterling socialists who began their career to fame walking the king's
highway with bare feet and their spare clothes tied up in their one
handkerchief. (How awkward if they had a cold in the head!)

After all the fuss he made about "wasted time," we arrived early at New
London, where we planned to spend the night. Something happened there,
but I haven't come to that yet. First, I must tell you just a little
about the dazzling beauty of the way! I should like to tell you a lot,
and force you to stop at every place en route. Easthaven, with trees and
a church steeple which almost succeed in reaching heaven;