Billy was father's fastest horse. It pleased me immensely to see the pace, for father would not have been driving fast unless he were in a particularly good humor. And when he stopped on the bank above camp I could have shouted. He wore his corduroys as if he were ready for outdoor life. There was a smile on his face as he tied Billy, and, coming down, he poked into everything in camp and asked innumerable questions. Hal talked about the bass until I was afraid he would want to go fishing and postpone our forestry tramp in the woods. But presently he spoke directly to me. “Well, Kenneth, are you going to come out with the truth about that Wild-West scheme of yours? Now that you've graduated you want a fling. You want to ride mustangs, to see cowboys, to hunt and shoot--all that sort of thing.” When father spoke in such a way it usually meant the defeat of my schemes. I grew cold all over. “Yes, father, I'd like all that--But I mean business. I want to be a forest ranger. Let me go to Arizona this summer. And in the fall I'd--I'd like to go to a school of forestry.” There! the truth was out, and my feelings were divided between relief and fear. Before father could reply I launched into a set speech upon forestry, and talked till I was out of breath. “There's something in what you say,” replied my father. “You've been reading up on the subject?” “Everything I could get, and I've been trying to apply my knowledge in the woods. I love the trees. I'd love an outdoor life. But forestry won't be any picnic. A ranger must be able to ride and pack, make trail and camp, live alone in the woods, fight fire and wild beasts. Oh! It'd be great!” “I dare say,” said father, dryly; “particularly the riding and shooting. Well, I guess you'll make a good-enough doctor to suit me.” “Give me a square deal,” I cried, jumping up. “Mayn't I have one word to say about my future? Wouldn't you rather have me happy and successful as a forester, even if there is danger, than just an ordinary, poor doctor? Let's go over our woodland. I'll prove that you are letting your forest run down. You've got sixty acres of hard woods that ought to be bringing a regular income. If I can't prove it, if I can't interest you, I'll agree to study medicine. But if I do you're to let me try forestry.” “Well, Kenneth, that's a fair proposition,” returned father, evidently surprised at my earnestness “Come on. We'll go up in the woods. Hal, I suppose he's won you over?” “Ken's got a big thing in mind,” replied Hal, loyally “It's just splendid.” I never saw the long, black-fringed line of trees without joy in the possession of them and a desire to be among them. The sixty acres of timber land covered the whole of a swampy valley, spread over a rolling hill sloping down to the glistening river. “Now, son, go ahead,” said my father, as we clambered over a rail fence and stepped into the edge of shade..