The Sunday trips we made up the Neckar: each morning early we would take
the train and ride to where we had walked the Sunday previous; then we
would tramp as far as we could,--meaning until dark,--have lunch at some
untouristed inn along the road, or perhaps eat a picnic lunch of our own
in some old castle ruin, and then ride home. Oh, those Sundays! I tell
you no two people in all this world, since people were, have ever had
_one_ day like those Sundays. And we had them almost every week. It
would have been worth going to Germany for just one of those days.

There was the gay, glad party that the Economic students gave, out in
Handschusheim at the "zum Bachlenz"; first, the banquet, with a big
roomful of jovial young Germans; then the play, in which Carl and I both
took part. Carl appeared in a mixture of his Idaho outfit and a German
peasant's costume, beating a large drum. He represented "Materialindex,"
and called out loudly, "Ich bitte mich nicht zu vergessen. Ich bin auch
da." I was "Methode," which nobody wanted to claim; whereat I wept. I am
looking at the flashlight picture of us all at this moment. Then came
the dancing, and then at about four o'clock the walk home in the
moonlight, by the old castle ruin in Handschusheim, singing the German
student-songs.

There was Carnival season, with its masque balls and frivolity, and
Faschings Dienstag, when Hauptstrasse was given over to merriment all
afternoon, every one trailing up and down the middle of the street
masked, and in fantastic costume, throwing confetti and tooting horns,
Carl and I tooting with the rest.

As time went on, we came to have one little group of nine students whom
we were with more than any others. As each of the men took his degree,
he gave a party to the rest of us to celebrate it, every one trying to