Medora Phillips withheld her eyes and sent out a guiding finger in the opposite direction. "Only see the red of those maples!" she said; "and that other red just to the left--the tree with the small, fine leaves all aflame. Do you know what it is?" "I'm afraid not." "It's a tupelo. And this shrub, right here?" She took between her fingers one large, bland indented leaf on a small tree close to the path. Cope shook his head. "Why, it's a sassafras. And this?"--she thrust her toe into a thick, lustrous bed of tiny leaves that hugged the ground. "No, again? That's kinnikinnick. Oh, my poor boy, you have everything to learn. Brought up in the country, too!" "But, really," said Cope in defense, "Freeford isn't so small as _that_. And even in the country one may turn by preference to books. Try me on primroses and date-palms and pomegranates!" Medora broke off a branch of sassafras and swished it to and fro as she walked. "See," she said; "three kinds of leaves on the same tree: one without lobes, one with a single lobe, and one with two." "Isn't Nature wonderful," replied Cope easily. Meanwhile the young ladies sauntered along--before or behind, as the case might be--in the company of the young business-man and that of another youth who had come out independently on the trolley. They appeared to be suitably accompanied and entertained. But shiftings and readjustments ensued, as they are sure to do with a walking-party. Cope presently found himself scuffling through the thin grass and the briery thickets alongside the young business-man. He was a clever, companionable chap, but he declared himself all too soon, even in this remote Arcadia, as utterly true to type. Cope was not long in feeling him as operating on the unconscious assumption--unconscious, and therefore all the more damnable--that the young man in business constituted, ipso facto, a kind of norm by which other young men in other fields of endeavor were to be gauged: the farther they deviated from the standard he automatically set up, the more lamentable their deficiencies. A few condescending inquiries as to the academic life, that strange aberration from the normality of the practical and profitable course which made the ordinary life of the day, and the separation came. "Enough of _him_!" muttered Cope to himself presently, and began to cast about for other company. Amy Leffingwell was strolling along alone: he caught a branch of haw from before her meditative face and proffered a general remark about the beauty of the day and the interest in the changing prospect. Amy's pretty pink face brightened. "It _is_ a lovely day," she said. "And the more of this lovely weather we have in October--and especially in November--the more trouble it makes." "Surely you don't want rain or frost?" "No; but it becomes harder to shut the house up for good and all. Last fall we opened and closed two or three times. We even tried coming out in December." "In mackintoshes and rubber boots?"