"Look at the leaves, John," said Rivers. "What fleets of red and gold!"
"I wonder," said John, "how far they will drift, and if any of them will ever float to the sea. It is a long way."
"Yes," returned Rivers, "and so we too are drifting."
"Oh, no, sir," said John, with the confidence of youth, "we are not drifting, we are sailing—not just like the leaves anywhere the waves take them."
"More or less," added Rivers moodily, "more or less."
He looked at the boy as he spoke, conscious of a nature unlike his own. Then he laughed outright. "You may be sure we are a good deal hustled by circumstances—like the leaves."
"I should prefer to hustle circumstances," replied John gaily, and again the rector studied the young face and wondered what life had in store for this resolute nature.
"Come, let us go. I have walked too far for me, I am overtired, John."
What it felt to be overtired, John hardly knew. He said, "I know a short cut, cater-cornered across the new clearing."
As they walked homeward, Rivers said, "What do you want to do, John? You are more than fit for the university—you should be thinking about it."