SALAD AND MOONSHINE "Do you remember that first salad you made us, Colin ?" I said, as we sat over our coffee, and Colin was filling his little pipe.

"A daring work of art, a fantastic _tour de force_, of apples, and lettuce, and wild strawberries, and I don't know what else." "I believe I mixed in some May-apples, too.

It was a great stunt ...
well, no more May-apples and strawberries this year," he finished, with a sigh, and we both sat silently smoking, thinking over the good Summer that was gone.
After our first meeting, Colin had dropped in to see me again from time to time, and when his work at the great house was finished, I had asked him to come and share my solitude.

A veritable child of Nature himself, he fitted into my quiet days as silently as a squirrel.

So much of his life had been passed out-of-doors with trees and skies, long dream-like days all alone sketching in solitary places, that he seemed as much a part of the woods as though he were a faun, and the lore of the elements, and all natural things--bugs and birds, all wildwood creatures--had passed into him with unconscious absorption.