"If it were not for the trip to Lenox," she murmured plaintively.
"The trip is off," announced Sara. She too was staring at the cloudless sky. "There will be rain tomorrow."
"It is very clear to-night, Sara."
"Do you hear that little wail in the trees—as if a child were whimpering out there? That is the plaint of the fairies who live in the buds and twigs, in the flower cups and mosses. They famish, their gods will hear. Their gods hear when ours is deaf. You will see. There will be clouds over us to-morrow and we will breathe the mist."
The girl shivered.
Many minutes afterward she said, as one who marvels: "I hear the promise in the wind, Sara,—the new, cool wind."
"The gods are whispering. Soon the fairies and elves will come forth to revel. Ah, what a wonderful thing the night is!"
"The fairies," mused the girl. "You believe in them?"
"Resolutely."
"And I too."