He came to the spot in the road where he could see the white side of the tent under the dark trees, and climbed up on the rail fence, sitting there for a few moments. The occasional call of a quail from a neighboring field was the only sound that broke the intense stillness. The warm smell of spring was in the air. The buds had but recently broken, and the woods, intensely green, had a look of newness and freshness that was comforting to the eye and grateful to the other senses. The world seemed to be but lately made. The young man breathed deeply of the vivifying air, and said: “No, there’s nothing the matter with this place, Dick. New York’s a fool to it.” Then, with a sigh, he added: “If I can stand it for two weeks. I wonder how the boys are getting on without me.”
In spite of himself his thoughts kept drifting back to the great city, although he told himself that it wouldn’t do. He gazed at the peaceful, spreading landscape, but his eyes were vacant and he saw nothing. The roar of the streets was in his ears. Suddenly his reverie was broken by a voice from the forest.
“I say, Yates, where’s the bread?”
Yates looked quickly around, somewhat startled, and saw the professor coming toward him.
“The bread? I forgot all about it. No; I didn’t either. They were baking—that was it. I am to go for it later in the day. What loot did you rake in, professor?”
“Vegetables mostly.”
“That’s all right. Have a good dinner?”
“Excellent.”
“So did I. Renny, when you interrupted me, I was just counting the farmhouses in sight. What do you say to boarding round among them? You are a schoolmaster, and ought to know all about it. Isn’t education in this country encouraged by paying the teacher as little as possible, and letting him take it out in eating his way from one house to another? Ever board around, Renny?”
“Never. If the custom once existed in Canada, it is out of date now.”