There appeared to be one continuous procession of well-cultivated farms,
little hamlets, and prosperous towns. What interested me most, of course,
were the farms, for all of them had some kind of wood. We passed a zone of
maple forests which looked to be more carefully kept than the others. Then
I recognized that they were maple-sugar trees. The farmers had cleaned out
the other species, and this primitive method of forestry had produced the
finest maples it had ever been my good-fortune to see. Indiana was flatter
than Ohio, not so well watered, and therefore less heavily timbered. I saw,
with regret, that the woodland was being cut regularly, tree after tree,
and stacked in cords for firewood.

At Chicago I was to change for Santa Fe, and finding my train in the
station I climbed aboard. My car was a tourist coach. Father had insisted
on buying a ticket for the California Limited, but I had argued that a
luxurious Pullman was not exactly the thing for a prospective forester.
Still I pocketed the extra money which I had assured him he need not spend
for the first-class ticket.

The huge station, with its glaring lights and clanging bells, and the
outspreading city, soon gave place to prairie land.

That night I slept little, but the very time I wanted to be awake--when we
crossed the Mississippi--I was slumbering soundly, and so missed it.

"I'll bet I don't miss it coming back," I vowed.

The sight of the Missouri, however, somewhat repaid me for the loss. What a
muddy, wide river! And I thought of the thousands of miles of country it
drained, and of the forests there must be at its source. Then came the