Arizona, dead sure."

"You're from Arizona, then?"

"Yes-a good ways from it"' Will replied in a way that stopped
further question. "Good luck!" he added as he walked on down The
road toward The creek, musing. "And the spring-I wonder if that's
there yet. I'd like a drink." The sun seemed hotter than at noon, and
he walked slowly. At the bridge that spanned the meadow brook,
just where it widened over a sandy ford, he paused again. He hung
over the rail and looked at the minnows swimming there.

"I wonder if they're The same identical chaps that used to boil and
glitter there when I was a boy-looks so. Men change from one
generation to another, but The fish remain The same. The same
eternal procession of types. I suppose Darwin 'ud say their
environment remains The same."

He hung for a long time over The railing, thinking of a vast
number of things, mostly vague, flitting things, looking into the
clear depths of the brook, and listening to the delicious liquid note
of a blackbird swinging on the willow. Red lilies starred the grass
with fire, and goldenrod and chicory grew everywhere; purple and
orange and yellow-green the prevailing tints.

Suddenly a water snake wriggled across the dark pool above the
ford, and the minnows disappeared under the shadow of the
bridge. Then Will sighed, lifted his head, and walked on. There
seemed to be something prophetic in it, and he drew a long breath.
That's the way his plans broke and faded away.