One morning last autumn, while I stood at my study window watching maple leaves make burnished swirls in the wind, and pondering some ancient lore, I was surprised to see Dr. Robert Smyth and his wife Susan drive up my lane. They had come to my home with friends on several occasions in the late afternoon for free-for-all conversations about things in general. At such times we had all been accustomed to frank and direct speech. In this relation with the Smyths I had learned that they were well informed about many matters and had a lively interest in public affairs. I had also found that they were both vigorous personalities, forthright in expressing their opinions, and that the Doctor had a tendency to flare up when he did not like things that were said. But all such encounters had been mere neighborly pastimes after the day’s work was over, and the Smyths had never broken into the precious hours of my mornings.