PA LOS PARK 97 



see the great crimson ramblers that nearly hid it 

 from view. 



He was cheerful as a grig until we asked him 

 about the winter. Then he threw up his hands. 



"Lonely?" he exclaimed. "I do be tired talkin' 

 to the trees." 



For the first time he seemed old to us. We 

 thought him seventy. He is ninety. Long may 

 he flourish like his own rose tree! 



The people of Palos are as interesting as the 

 country is beautiful. There is the long-haired 

 artist who carves his face in the clay of the bluffs, 

 and attracts to himself numerous beauty-lovers 

 from the city, so that the artist colony of Chicago 

 is beginning to know Palos; and there are the 

 inhabitants of the school teachers' haven, all 

 o. m.'s, some of whom came to call on our hostess 

 in the little sitting room. 



Here, a merry party, we blithely spent our 

 country day. And while the big boy and the big 

 little girl wandered along the creek and played 

 up and down the stairs at the spring, we enjoyed 

 the pure air and the view and the cheerful femi- 

 nine gossip, and as evening dusk came on we 

 bade our hostess good-bye and started back to the 

 station. 



Our neighbor was entirely happy at View 



