The ladies teased us and seemed greatly amused while arousing us for breakfast, but soon we were all out in the glorious dawn while the sun was yet lingering beyond old Lake Michigan. Our way was over the hills which overlook the head waters of the sleepy Desplaines. Touched with a glimmer of pathos at the golden dawn, Arthur and I stopped to listen to my wife's sentimental refrain: "Not so long ago the red men with their squaws and papooses gathered here, when the leaves were falling, to celebrate their autumn pow-wow, feasting on wild rice, berries and venison, never dreaming that a pale-faced foe lurked on an unknown shore who would soon appear to drive them far away from their own hunting ground, never more to return to join in the chase or the young braves to woo the sun-burned Indian maids." [Illustration: VIDA.] This little day dream of long ago seemed to awaken serious thought, into which Arthur took part thus: "Isn't this lovely away from the great city of catch as catch can--to enjoy the inspiration of these quiet hills and valleys? I wonder if this morning may not be just a glimmer of worlds in the far away Eternity more beautiful than ours. Do you think, father, there are other worlds like ours?" "Not exactly like ours, my boy, there are no two cherries on the tree just alike, still like folks they are all similar. Eternity is the abode of millions of worlds--see, there, our party are climbing the next hill; no more monologues here, we must overtake them." From Gray's Lake, when our party of eleven had dwindled to five, Arthur, Hauter and Highland pegged steadily on, while Mary and I lagged to enjoy the beautiful northern hilly country. We really did enjoy our lark, as Mary called it. She observed every interesting thing. Listened to the barking of the squirrels, songs of the birds and strayed into the woods for pretty autumn leaves and berries until her arms were full. Our daughter Vida, at Carroll College, who knew of our contemplated walk, telephoned to Chicago and on learning we had actually started took the train to Antioch and came down the road to surprise us. We were loafing along when our Weiders (Vida), whom we had not seen in eight weeks, sprang from a concealment and grabbed us. Surely I would not have been much more surprised if one of the fair sex from the planet Mars had accosted us. After the shower of kisses Mary and I forgot our sore toes, and, with her, hurried on, visiting all the way until we neared our destination, when in the woods, a flood of red bitter-sweet berries attracted their attention and, in spite of all I could do or say, they left the road and began browsing again. Vida's animation reached serene heights, when from a perch on a fallen tree she cried, "Oh, Papa, see how I can climb. Come up here and see the rippling wave of old Fox Lake dance in the blushing rays of the evening sun. Oh, isn't it a pity that girls cannot fly."