pe. A bow-tie of
lemon-yellow with purple dots nestled under his chin and between the
cuffs of his trousers and the rubber-soled tan shoes a four-inch expanse
of heliotrope silk stockings showed. A straw hat with a particularly
narrow brim was adorned with a ribbon of alternating bars of maroon and
grey. He was indeed a cheerful and colourful youth, his cheerfulness
being further evidenced by the jaunty swinging of a stick which he had
apparently cut from a willow and by the gay whistling of a tune. On
sight of Clint, however, the stick stopped swinging and the whistling
came to an end in the middle of a note.

"Hi!" said the youth in surprised tones.

"Hello," answered Clint politely.

The newcomer paused and viewed the boy on the stand with frank
curiosity. Then his gaze wandered across to the mower, which was at the
instant making the turn at the further corner, over by the tennis
courts. Finally,

"Bossing the job?" he asked, nodding toward the mower.

Clint smiled and shook his head. "No, just--just loafing."

"Hot, isn't it?" The other pushed the gaily-ribboned hat to the back of
his head and drew a pale lavender handkerchief across his forehead.
"Been moseying around over there in the woods," he continued when Clint
had murmured agreement. "Studying Nature in her manifold moods. Nature
is some warm today. There's a sort of a breeze here, though,
isn't there?"

Clint agreed again, more doubtfully, and the boy who had been studying
Nature seated himself sidewise on a seat below, drawing his feet up and
clasping his hands about his knees. He was a good-looking, merry-faced
chap of seventeen, with dark-brown eyes, a short nose liberally freckled
under the tan and a rather prominent chin with a deep dimple in it. His
position revealed a full ten inches of the startling hose; and, since
they were almost under his nose, Clint gazed at them fascinatedly.

"Some socks, are they not?" inquired the youth.

Clint, already a little embarrassed by the other's friendliness, removed
his gaze hurriedly.

"They're very--nice," he murmured.

The other elevated one ankle and viewed it approvingly. "Saw them in a
window in New York yesterday and fell for them at once. I've got another
pair that are sort of pinky-grey, ashes of roses, I guess. Watch for
them. They'll gladden your heart. You're new, aren't you?"

"Yes, I got here this morning," replied Clint. "I suppose you're--you're
not."

"No, this is my third year.