"The section of the bluff overlooking the river," he explained, "is full of natural hazards, besides having a really fine view." Chippewa--or that comfortable, middle-class section of it which got its exercise walking home to dinner from the store at noon, and cutting the grass evenings after supper--laughed as it read this interview in the Chippewa _Eagle_. "A golf course," they repeated to one another, grinning. "Conklin's cow pasture, up the river. It's full of natural--wait a minute--what was?--oh, yeh, here it is--hazards. Full of natural hazards. Say, couldn't you die!" For H. Charnsworth Baldwin had been little Henry Baldwin before he went East to college. Ten years later H. Charnsworth, in knickerbockers and gay-topped stockings, was winning the cup in the men's tournament played on the Chippewa golf-club course, overlooking the river. And his name, in stout gold letters, blinked at you from the plate-glass windows of the office at the corner of Elm and Winnebago: NORTHERN LUMBER AND LAND COMPANY. H. CHARNSWORTH BALDWIN, PRES. Two blocks farther down Elm Street was another sign, not so glittering, which read: MISS SOPHY DECKER Millinery Sophy's hat-making, in the beginning, had been done at home. She had always made her sisters' hats, and her own, of course, and an occasional hat for a girl friend. After her sisters had married Sophy found herself in possession of a rather bewildering amount of spare time. The hat trade grew so that sometimes there were six rather botchy little bonnets all done up in yellow paper pyramids with a pin at the top, awaiting their future wearers. After her mother's death Sophy still stayed on in the old house. She took a course in millinery in Milwaukee, came home, stuck up a home-made sign in the parlour window (the untidy cucumber vines came down), and began her hat-making in earnest. In five years she had opened a shop on a side street near Elm; had painted the old house, installed new plumbing, built a warty stucco porch, and transformed the weedy, grass-tangled yard into an orderly stretch of green lawn and bright flower-beds. In ten years she was in Elm Street, and the Chippewa _Eagle_ ran a half column twice a year describing her spring and fall openings. On these occasions Aunt Sophy, in black satin, and marcel wave, and her most relentless corsets was, in all the superficial things, not a pleat, or fold, or line, or wave behind her city colleagues. She had all the catch phrases: "This is awfully good this year." "Here's a sweet thing. A Mornet model.... Well, but my dear, it's the style--the line--you're paying for, not the material." "I've got the very thing for you. I had you in mind when I bought it. Now don't say you can't wear henna. Wait till you see it on."