Kay thought that a doubt was being cast on Peter’s cleverness. “It isn’t difficult at all,” she protested; “not if you have a tandem tricycle and a big brother like Peter.”
The golden woman laughed with her hand against her throat. “But I hav’n’t a tandem tricycle, and I hav’n’t a big brother like Peter.”
Kay knew she hadn’t; she wondered what made the golden woman say that, and—— yes, why she choked at the end of her words.
“Good-by till we come again.”
They rang their bells as a parting salutation. The wheels began to turn. They disappeared between the hedges down the road, a vision of plunging legs, bent backs and flying hair.
The man and woman were left alone on the highway between the Haunted Wood and the town, to both of which these children had such ready access.
Slowly, slowly the sun was vanishing; once a ball of fire; now the boldness of sight on which an eye-lid was closing; at last a glory to be taken on faith and conjecture. The country became vague as though seen through water. Its greenness had a coolness which was more than color; which had to be realized by a spiritual sense. The evening dimness, like the hand of death, removed sharp temporary edges from the landscape and revealed an expression which was timeless, which had been always there. Birds had ceased calling. The moon floated out—the soul of the night, high-lifted and inspired. Trees sought to touch her with their fingers; she slipped by them, unhurried by their effort.
He had said so much to her in the past with his eager lips and words. Now, for some time, he had been saying everything, while seeming to say nothing.
He held her pressed against him. “Ah dearest——”
She stirred. “But I’m not good.”