MATURE TRUANTS 



shadowy and wet, and there was the traditional 

 rustic bridge across a narrow stream. The Doc 

 tor looked at his watch. &quot; How far,&quot; he asked, 

 &quot; do you suppose we have come ? &quot; 



I thought five miles. He calculated eight. It 

 was noon. We leaned against the old hand-rail 

 and looked at each other. 



&quot; Doctor,&quot; said I, &quot; I acknowledge the prodigal 

 feeling it is located mainly in my stomach.&quot; 



He pointed down the stream to a flat rock, 

 very mossy and canopied by a marsh poplar. 

 &quot;Let us repair,&quot; he said, &quot; to yon umbrageous 

 spot. I have bread and butter with home-cured 

 ham interpolated, not to mention two hard-boiled 

 eggs, prepared by the dainty fingers of the girl 

 we have left behind. I will promise you not to 

 lecture.&quot; 



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