gh. I do not suppose that your mother
entertains a great deal. Does she give many house parties?"

Robert arose, and as attorney for rural places filed a demurrer
against six of the seven trunks. He endeavored to define, picture,
elucidate, set forth and describe a farm. His own words sounded
strange in his ears. He had not realized how thoroughly urbsidized
he had become.

A week passed and found them landed at the little country station
five hours out from the city. A grinning, stentorian, sarcastic youth
driving a mule to a spring wagon hailed Robert savagely.

"Hallo, Mr. Walmsley. Found your way back at last, have you? Sorry
I couldn't bring in the automobile for you, but dad's bull-tonguing
the ten-acre clover patch with it to-day. Guess you'll excuse my not
wearing a dress suit over to meet you--it ain't six o'clock yet, you
know."

"I'm glad to see you, Tom," said Robert, grasping his brother's hand.
"Yes, I've found my way at last. You've a right to say 'at last.'
It's been over two years since the last time. But it will be oftener
after this, my boy."

Alicia, cool in the summer heat as an Arctic wraith, white as a
Norse snow maiden in her flimsy muslin and fluttering lace parasol,
came round the corner of the station; and Tom was stripped of his
assurance. He became chiefly eyesight clothed in blue jeans, and on
the homeward drive to the mule alone did he confide in language the
inwardness of his thoughts.

They drove homeward. The low sun dropped a spendthrift flood of gold
upon the fortunate fields of wheat. The cities were far away. The
road lay curling around wood and dale and hill like a ribbon lost
from the robe of careless summer. The wind followed like a whinnying
colt in the track of Phoebus's steeds.

By and by the farmhouse peeped gray out of its faithful grove; they
saw the long lane with its convoy of walnut trees running from the
road to the house; they smelled the wild rose and the breath of cool,
damp willows in the creek's bed. And then in unison all the voices of
the soil began a chant addressed to the soul of Robert Walmsley. Out
of the tilted aisles of the dim wood they came hollowly; they chirped
and buzzed from the parched grass; they trilled from the ripples
of the creek ford; they floated up in clear Pan's pipe notes from
the dimming meadows; the whippoorwills joined in as they pursued
midges in the upper air; slow-going cow-bells struck out a homely
accompaniment--and this w