APPLE ORCHARD IN FULL FRUIT 117 
mountains and I was wandering wide awake as 
the day, I could at a goodly distance hear the 
voices of the blessed woman in song or speech 
on her back stoop coming out to boss her hus- 
band, and he bringing the water and kindling 
the fire and bringing the wood and whatever- 
I-can-do-nextly. And when the bacon began 
to fry it mixed its perfume with the apple orchard 
breath tantalizingly. There is in bacon some- 
thing very sociable. The smell of frying bacon 
never intrudes on anything, picnicking, love- 
making or apple-orcharding. It walks easily into 
the company of them all. It is not convivial 
but is sociable. It makes folks chatter and smile 
and has the odor of wood smoke and speaks of 
hospitality. So in the hearing of bacon odors 
I turned toward the lodge in the apple orchard 
in full fruit not as designing to hasten or as being 
hungry, but as feeling the attraction of hos- 
pitality, so that when the man of the orchard 
was bid by the woman of the orchard (as I heard 
her do) to call me to breakfast, I was present 
and needing no calling but when he lifted up 
his voice, I noiselessly said “Adsum,” after the 
manner of dear Colonel Newcomb, of fragrant 
memory. 
And what a breakfast it was with the hostess 
for the cook and the host for a butler and I the 
behostessed and be-buttled. The butler and I 
decided in the spirit of democracy to let the cook 
eat with us. She did, for if she hadn’t we would 
