“Erosion,” Tom exploded. “My error,” said Brent. “Why, take that old elm near Conner’s well,” Tom said. “All right, take it, I don’t care,” said Brent. “That needs some filling,” said Tom. “I think it needs a whole new set of teeth,” Brent observed. “And you can see for yourself how important it is,” said Tom; “you were in the well.” “I seem to remember,” said Brent. “Where do you suppose that well would be if it wasn’t for the roots of that old tree? Why, it would have all caved in, wouldn’t it?” “Absolutely. And I wouldn’t have spent an evening in it. Don’t talk to me about erosion, I’m in favor of it.” “Well, you’re interested in government work, aren’t you?” “Oh, yes, I love, I love, I love my country best.” “Well, then,” said Tom, “we’ve got to look at it just as if that fellow was billeted with us and treat him right.” “Have you ever known me to be impolite?” “No, but you’re funny; everybody doesn’t understand you.” “I’m like Spiff, I am not understood. So far as I’m concerned, Tommy, our forest home is open to the stranger and the cause he represents. Are we going fishing?” They went fishing in the brook that afternoon and so much enjoyed their catch of trout that they went again the next day. They found the fish a grateful variation to their rather restricted diet. On returning with their luscious string of trout on that second afternoon they were hailed by Lawton, who was invisible among the branches of a tree. “The cat came back,” he called cheerily. “On the job?” Tom shouted. “Come down and have some supper with us; we’ve got eleven trout.” “Be right with you,” the cheery voice called down. “What’s it going to do, rain?” “We need rain bad enough,” Tom answered. “Do you know,” he confessed to Brent as they went on to the cabin, “I’ve about forgotten all about John Mink; off with the old love, on with the new, I suppose you’ll say. It’s a lot of fun just camping here and catching trout and sitting around the fire. I hope Lawton stays all night; we’ll have a three-handed game of pinochle. Boy, that’s some string of fish, hey!” Lawton did stay all night and made himself mightily at home, to their great enjoyment. He ate trout and talked about fishing in the Great Lakes and played pinochle and told about forestry work generally. He had been in service in France, and he and Tom talked about that. Brent had missed out on that adventure, being then under the age limit. But he enjoyed the talk. Lawton was no bore, even the Philistine Brent had to admit that. He seemed always ready to answer questions, to explain. He laughed at the interest they showed and, thus encouraged, gave engaging morsels of adventure and talked somewhat of the difficulties the “forest bunch” have with the political powers that be. He was informative but not boastful. There was a contagious sprightliness about his eager manner of narration. He seemed amused at Brent, never taking offense at that sprawling young philosopher’s whimsical comments.