rocky stairway which my companion climbed with ease and agility
despite his five-and-sixty years.

I paused to examine some mushrooms, and, finding a species that I
knew to be edible, began nibbling it. "Don't taste that," he said
imperatively; but I laughed and nibbled away. With a mingling of
anxiety and curiosity he inquired: "Are you sure it's all right?
Do you really like them? I never could; they are so uncanny--the
gnomes or evil genii or hobgoblins of the vegetable world--give
them a wide berth."

He pointed to a rock in the distance where he said he sometimes sat
and sulked. "/You/ sulk, and own up to it, too?" I asked. "Yes, and
own up to it, too. Why not? Don't you?"

"Are there any bee-trees around here?" I questioned, remembering
that in one of his essays he has said: "If you would know the
delight of bee-hunting, and how many sweets such a trip yields
besides honey, come with me some bright, warm, late September or
early October day. It is the golden season of the year, and any
errand or pursuit that takes us abroad upon the hills, or by the
painted woods and along the amber-colored streams at such a time
is enough." Here was a September day if not a bright one, and here
were the painted woods, and somehow I felt half aggrieved that he
did not immediately propose going in quest of wild honey. Instead
he only replied: "I don't know whether there are bee-trees around
here now or not. I used to find a good deal of wild honey over at
a place that I spoke of casually as Mount Hymettus, and was much
surprised later to find they had so put it down on the maps of this
region. Wild honey is delectable, but I pursued that subject till