And, in time, some of these things which the river said to him, he, in turn, told to Auntie Sue.
And Auntie Sue, delighted with the man's awakening self, and charmed with his power of thought and his gift of expression, led him on.
With artful suggestion and skilful question and subtle argument, she stimulated his mind and fancy to lay hold of the truths and beauties that life and nature offered.

But ever the rare old gentlewoman was his teacher, revealing himself to himself; guiding him to a fuller discovery and knowledge of his own life and its meaning, which, indeed, is the true aim and end of all right teaching.
So the days of the autumn passed.

The hills changed their robes of varied green for costumes of brown and gold, with touches here and there of flaming scarlet and brilliant yellow.

And then winter was at hand, and that momentous evening came when Auntie Sue said to her pupil, after an hour of most interesting talk, "Brian, why in the world don't you write a book ?" "'A book'!" exclaimed Brian, in a startled tone.
Judy laughed.

"He sure ought ter.