In the 20's I used to visit Copey at Walpole, above the Connecticut River in N.H.
There the talk and business of the social day was carried on out in Walpole fields, and under Walpole sky.
At such times he seemed more than ever the indefatigable walker. He once told me that he was good for only a turn just out of the town. But in city clothes and with bowler hat carefully under his arm (as though he had just crossed into Brattle Street) he walked me two or three miles across the country with the steadiness of mountaineer bred to leather.
It was on that occasion that we paused for a minute somewhere above the town to peer into a little brook. We looked at it in silence, and my thoughts ran to the possibility of fish.
"There are no trout in it," I said.
"There's music in it," said Copey.
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TWO WEEKS XMAS VACATION DECREED BY CORPORATION
