ud in class
and criticized. Also in between times I occasionally see Mr. Jennings.

Last week each member of the class was required to submit an original
sonnet. Mine is not finished yet. I am trying a rhapsody on the autumn
woods. This is the way I work. Pencil, pad, low rocking-chair by the
window. First line:

"I see the saffron woods of yesterday!" Then fixedly I gaze at the
rubber on the end of my pencil. "I see the saffron woods of yesterday!"
(What a young god he looked the day he called for me to go chestnutting!
How his eyes laughed and his voice sang, and as we scuffled noisily
through the leaf-strewn forest, how his long, easy stride put me in mind
of the swinging meter of Longfellow's Hiawatha!)

"I see the saffron woods of yesterday!" (I see, too, the setting sun
shining on the yellow leaves, clinging frailly. I see myself standing
beneath a tree holding up an overcoat--his overcoat, thrown across my
outstretched arms to catch the pelting burrs that he is shaking off. I
see his eyes looking down from the tree into mine. Later as we lean over
a rock to crack open the prickly burrs, I feel our shoulders touch! Did
he feel them, too, I wonder? If he were any other man I would say that
he meant that our eyes should meet too long, our shoulders lean too
near, and our silence, as we walked home in the dark, continue too
tense. But he is different. He is not a lover. He is a friend--a
comrade.) "I see the saffron woods of yesterday!"

Abruptly I lay aside my pad and pencil. I put on my coat and hat, pull
on my gloves, and in self-defense plunge out into the cold November
afternoon. I avoid the country, and try to keep my recreant thoughts on
such practical subjects as trolley cars, motor-trucks and delivery
wagons, rumbling noisily beside me along the street. A sudden "To Let"
card appears in a new apartment. I wonder how much the rent is. I wonder
how much the salary of an assistant professor is. Probably something
under five thousand a year. The income from the investments left me by
my father amounts to almost eight hundred dollars. Clothes alone cost me
more than a thousand. Of course one wouldn't need so many, but what with
rent, and food, and service, and--what am I thinking of? Why, I've
known the man only four weeks, and considering my recent relations with
Breckenridge Sewall such mad air-castling is lacking in good taste.
Besides, a teacher--a professor! I've always scorned professors. I was
predesti