He was sitting at the table on the porch of Birch Hall, and the lines that pleased him were burned on a wooden tablet affixed to the big stone chimney across the room. His gaze, returning from the quotation, fell on Tom, who at a neighboring table was, like Nelson, writing home. One of Tom’s legs was twined around the camp-stool upon which he was seated, as a morning-glory vine twines about a post. The other leg was stretched straight ahead, as though seeking inspiration at a distance. His forehead was puckered with wrinkles until it resembled the surface of a washboard, and he chewed ravenously at the tip of his pen. Nelson smiled, and let his gaze wander back to his own task only to have it prove truant again, attracted by the scene at his left.
The porch overhung the hill, and from where he sat he looked into the swaying branches of the trees. Between them, like turquoises set in a field of emerald and chrysoprase, shone patches of the lake ruffled to a tender blue by the breeze that sang amid the trees. Near-by a silver poplar flashed the under surface of its leaves into the sunlight, so that they seemed to have been dipped in pale gold. A gray squirrel chattered and scolded on a neighboring limb, and all about birds sang blithely. Nelson sighed, and brought his eyes resolutely back to the half-written letter before him. It wasn’t a morning for letter-writing; the woods called too loudly; his thoughts would stray.
“Oh, hang it!” exclaimed Tom, “I don’t know what to write!”
“Did you tell them about the ants last night?” asked Nelson innocently.
“You bet I did! And say, one of those bites still aches like the mischief. I never thought ants could nip like that!”
“You probably rolled over on them; that’s enough to make any self-respecting ant angry.”
“Oh, dry up and blow away! What are you writing about?”
“Not much of anything—yet. I mentioned the ants. And the weather; I suppose they’ll be pleased to know what sort of weather we had two days before they get my letter! I’ve got almost a page about the weather.”
“Gee! I wish I could write like that. I told ’em it was a fine day, but it only took a line. Wish I could string it out like you can! I guess I’ll just say that I’m well, and that it’s time for dinner, so no more at present.”