It was too pathetic. I believe the tears came to my eyes.

"Colin," I said, as I at length arrived and set down my basket of
potatoes, "read this."

He took the paper from my hand and read:

"_Sun-up Baseball Club. September_ 19, 1908. _Last Match of the Season_"

He knew what I meant.

"Yes!" he said. "It is the epitaph of Summer."




CHAPTER II

AT EVENING I CAME TO THE WOOD


My solitude had been kindly lent to me for the Summer by a friend, the
prophet-proprietor of a certain famous Well of Truth some four miles
away, whither souls flocked from all parts of America to drink of the
living waters. I had been feeling town-worn and world-weary, and my
friend had written me saying: "At Elim are twelve wells and seventy
palm-trees," and so to Elim I had betaken myself. After a brief sojourn
there, drinking of the waters, and building up on the strong diet of the
sage's living words, he had given me the key to some green woods and