"'Many-storied Camelot town,'" he said, musing. "Without the shrouding smoke, what would it be? Factory chimneys, iron smoke-stacks, a filtration plant--Ugliness, ugliness! Yet there are people in that town who want to rid themselves of those billowing mists of rose and violet and silver." "I suppose," said Joan, "the beauty of smoke depends upon whether you're down in it, getting smuts on your nose, or looking on from a hilltop." "A question of perspective, you think? Hmnn--yes. Well, then" he said reasonably, "by all means _get_ your perspective. Stick to the hilltop--especially at sunset." "We haven't all got wings to reach a hilltop with, you see. Nor yet automobiles." "I haven't, myself," he said. "I use trolley-cars.... Did it ever occur to you what a marvel the trolley-car is? For a nickel--or at most a dime--all Nature is yours to command; beechwoods in their autumn field of the cloth of gold; little whispering streams breaking their winter silence, fireflies dancing--to the tune of the 'Merry Widow' waltz," (as that melody of the moment made itself audible from the house beyond). "What a twilight! Fireflies, an afterglow, and the moonrise set to music, all at once," he said under his breath. "And some one to share them with!" Joan was silent, flattered by the knowledge that this whimsical gentleman was letting her into his thoughts. "The beauty of such a moment is that one never loses it," he mused. "One puts it away as people press flowers in books, to be looked at when--when pleasant things need remembering. I thank God for a mind well stocked with beautiful occasions!" "Wild Evenings I Have Known," murmured Joan, frivolously, because for some reason she was rather touched. He nodded, "With wild people in them. Like you." "Me! Wild?" "Oh, I know on the surface you're a demure, well-behaved young miss, but underneath--good gracious! You'd shock these people to death!"--he indicated certain hilarious couples who had waltzed onto the terrace near them. "Yes, you're quite untamed, my dear. Wild as a--chipmunk." Joan leaned toward him, "How did you guess?" "I've watched you dance. And then--well, I've never quite got used to the cage myself, perhaps." He began to hum under his breath a tuneless little ditty: "It is a very dreadful thing To be so fat a child, To have to sit around all day And yet to feel so wild." "At least," laughed Joan, "I'm not fat!" "No!" he said soberly, "never get fat. It is the beginning of the end.... By fat I mean old. And cautious. Ugh!" How the conversation came about to apple-trees, Joan never was sure; but he told her about one he had discovered somewhere in the deep woods, all in bloom, a little old gnarled affair hidden among giant first growth sycamores and elms and beeches. "An apple-tree lost in the woods! How do you suppose it got away from civilization?" wondered the girl. "Some bird, perhaps; or Johnny Appleseed." "Who was he?"