"Is that the way you usually spend your Sundays?"

"Well, I--I like snooping about."

"M-m," mused Clarence. Then, "How's business, Fanny?"

"Business?" You could almost feel her mind jerk back. "Oh,
let's not talk about business on Sunday."

"I thought so," said Clarence, enigmatically. "Now listen
to me, Fanny."

"I'll listen," interrupted she, "if you'll talk about
yourself. I want to know what you're doing, and why you're
going to New York. What business can a naturalist have in
New York, anyway?"

"I didn't intend to be a naturalist. You can tell that by
looking at me. But you can't have your very nose rubbed up
against trees, and rocks, and mountains, and snow for years
and years without learning something about 'em. There were
whole weeks when I hadn't anything to chum with but a
timber-line pine and an odd assortment of mountain peaks.
We just had to get acquainted."

"But you're going back, aren't you? Don't they talk about
the spell of the mountains, or some such thing?"
"They do. And they're right. And I've got to have them six
months in the year, at least. But I'm going to try spending