er the dull green a large, irregular lacework of dull
yellow had spread itself, and the more we looked the better we liked it.
Just why the chemical affinity between plaster and paper should produce
that particular effect we could not imagine, but there it was and there
it stayed, for the process did not go any farther. Later on, when our
furniture and pictures were in place, visitors used to say, "_Wherever_
did you get that wonderful paper?" If they were true friends and worthy,
we told them. Otherwise we would vaguely hint of a special pattern, and
that there was no more to be had of the kind.

IV

_There was a place we sometimes visited to see the trout_

I suppose about the most beautiful thing in life is novelty. In it is
the chief charm of youth and travel and honeymoons. I will not say it is
the most valuable thing there is, and it is likely to be about the most
transient. But while it lasts it is precious, and inspiring beyond
words.

No other autumn could ever be quite like that first one of our new
possession, none could ever have the halo and the bloom of novelty that
made us revel in all the things we could do and moved us to undertake
them all. Days to come would be more peaceful and abundantly satisfying,
happier, even, in the fullness of accomplishment, but never again would
we know quite the thrill that each day brought during our first golden
September at Brook Ridge.

To begin with, it was September, and golden. The rains of August had
ceased and their lavish abundance had filled brook and river and left
the world a garden of wild aster and goldenrod, with red apples swinging
from the trees, massed umbels of dark elderberries, and pink and purple
grapes ripening in the sun. Our satisfaction with everything was
unbounded. A New England farm, with its brook and springs and gray walls
and odd corners, seemed to us, of all possessions, the most desirable.
We took long walks through our quiet woods where there were hickory and
chestnut trees, and oaks and hemlocks, and slender white birches that
were like beautiful spirits, and tall maples, and even apple-trees, wild
seedlings, planted by the birds, but thrifty and bearing. We had never
seen that in the West. The fruit was not very tender, but well flavored
and made delicious sauce.

"Why, it must be the Garden of Eden," we said, "if the apple-tree grows
wild!"

We carried baskets and gathered in infinite variety. Apples,
hickory-nuts, berries,