Mrs. Deering made Miss Gage take the seat between them. Her husband
and I stood awhile in front of them, and then I said we would go off
and find chairs somewhere.

We did not find any till we had climbed to the upland at the south-
east of the park, and then only two iron ones, which it was useless
to think of transporting. But there was no reason why we should not
sit in them where they were: we could keep the ladies in plain
sight, and I could not mistake "Washington Post" when the band came
to it. Mr. Deering sank into one of the chairs with a sigh of
satisfaction which seemed to complete itself when he discovered in
the thick grass at his feet a twig from one of the tall, slim pines
above us. He bent over for it, and then, as he took out his
penknife and clicked open a blade to begin whittling, he cast up a
critical glance at the trees.

"Pretty nice pines," he said; and he put his hand on the one next to
us with a sort of appreciation that interested me.

"Yes; the trees of Saratoga are the glory of the place," I returned.
"I never saw them grow anywhere else so tall and slim. It doesn't
seem the effect of crowding either. It's as if there was some
chemical force in the soil that shot them up. They're like rockets
that haven't left the ground yet."

"It's the crowding," he said seriously, as if the subject were not
to be trifled with. "It's the habit of all these trees--pines and
oaks and maples, I don't care what they are--to spread, and that's
what we tell our customers. Give the trees plenty of room; don't
plant 'em too thick if you want to get all the good out of 'em." As