SPRING 107 



had been going only to the post office, he 

 insisted upon carrying me to the hotel, a mile 

 beyond. Better still, we had a pleasant, hu- 

 manizing talk of a kind to be serviceable to 

 a narrow specialist, such as I seemed just 

 now in danger of becoming. The use of 

 tobacco was one of our topics, I remember, 

 and the mutual duties of husbands and wives 

 another. My host had seen a good deal of 

 the world, it appeared, and withal was no 

 little of a philosopher. I hope it will not 

 sound egotistical if I say that he gave every 

 sign of finding me a capable listener. 



Once more only I saw the Cape May. His 

 claim to be accounted a summer resident of 

 Franconia was by this time moderately well 

 established ; but on my last spare afternoon 

 (June 3) I could not do less than pay him a 

 farewell visit. After looking for him in vain 

 for twenty years (I speak as a New Eng- 

 lander), it seemed the part of prudence to 

 cultivate his acquaintance while I could. At 

 the entrance to the swamp, therefore, I put 

 on my gloves, tied a handkerchief about my 

 neck, and broke a stem of meadow-sweet for 

 use as a mosquito switch. The season was 



