ere in the crowd those people
with the clothes that are perfectly all right and yet look odd in some
way, the women with the peculiar hats and the--what do you say?--last
year's fashions? Ah yes, of course, that must be it.

Anyway, those are the Mariposa people all right enough. That man with
the two-dollar panama and the glaring spectacles is one of the greatest
judges that ever adorned the bench of Missinaba County. That clerical
gentleman with the wide black hat, who is explaining to the man with
him the marvellous mechanism of the new air brake (one of the most
conspicuous illustrations of the divine structure of the physical
universe), surely you have seen him before. Mariposa people! Oh yes,
there are any number of them on the train every day.

But of course you hardly recognize them while the train is still passing
through the suburbs and the golf district and the outlying parts of the
city area. But wait a little, and you will see that when the city
is well behind you, bit by bit the train changes its character. The
electric locomotive that took you through the city tunnels is off now
and the old wood engine is hitched on in its place. I suppose, very
probably, you haven't seen one of these wood engines since you were a
boy forty years ago,--the old engine with a wide top like a hat on its
funnel, and with sparks enough to light up a suit for damages once in
every mile.

Do you see, too, that the trim little cars that came out of the city
on the electric suburban express are being discarded now at the way
stations, one by one, and in their place is the old familiar car with
the stuff cushions in red plush (how gorgeous it once seemed!) and with
a box stove set up in one end of it? The stove is burning furiously at
its sticks this autumn evening, for the air sets in chill as you get
clear away from the city and are rising up to the higher ground of the
country of the pines and the lakes.

Look from the window as you go. The city is far behind now and right and
left of you there are trim farms with elms and maples near them and with
tall windmills beside the barns that you can still see in the gathering
dusk. There is a dull red light from the windows of the farmstead. It
must be comfortable there after the roar and clatter of the city, and
only think of the still quiet of it.

As you sit back half dreaming in the car, you keep wondering why it is
that you never came up before in all these years. Ever so man