On the walls were two or three good pictures fastened by brass tacks; and some of the gray moss and pine branches from Michael’s own room. In the central wall appeared one of Michael’s beloved college pennants. It was understood by all who had yet entered the sacred precincts of the room to be the symbol of what made the difference between them and “the angel,” and they looked at it with awe, and mentally crossed themselves in its presence. At the windows were two lengths of snowy cheese-cloth crudely hemmed by Michael, and tacked up in pleats with brass-headed tacks. They were tied back with narrow yellow ribbons. This had been the last touch and Sam sat looking thoughtfully at the stiff angular bows when Michael asked the question: “Have you ever been in the country?” “Sure!” said Sam scornfully. “Went wid de Fresh Air folks wen I were a kid.” “What did you think of it?” “Don’t tink much!” shrugged Sam. “Too empty. Nothin’ doin’! Good ’nough fer kids. Never again fer _me_.” It was three months since Michael had made his memorable first visit down to Old Orchard Farm. For weeks he had worked shoulder to shoulder every evening with Sam and as yet no word of that plan which was nearest his heart had been spoken. This was his first attempt to open the subject. That Sam had come to have a certain kind of respect and fondness for him he was sure, though it was never expressed in words. Always he either objected to any plan Michael suggested, or else he was extremely indifferent and would not promise to be on hand. He was almost always there, however, and Michael had come to know that Sam was proud of his friendship, and at least to a degree interested in his plans for the betterment of the court. “There are things in the country; other things, that make up for the stir of the city,” said Michael thoughtfully. This was the first unpractical conversation he had tried to hold with Sam. He had been leading him up, through the various stages from dirt and degradation, by means of soap and water, then paper and paint, and now they had reached the doorway of Nature’s school. Michael wanted to introduce Sam to the great world of out-of-doors. For, though Sam had lived all his life out-of-doors, it had been a world of brick walls and stone pavements, with little sky and almost no water. Not a green thing in sight, not a bird, nor a beast except of burden. The first lesson was waiting in a paper bundle that stood under the table. Would Sam take it, Michael wondered, as he rose and brought it out unwrapping the papers carefully, while Sam silently watched and pretended to whistle, not to show too much curiosity. “What tings?” at last asked Sam.