“It might be something almost too good.” William’s tone had a deep vibration. “If it keeps on coming out like this, it’ll be wonderful. Do you see that cloud?”
June peered hard, but she could not see a suspicion of a cloud.
“Take the microscope.”
Even with the microscope no cloud was visible to June.
“I’m as sure of it as I ever was of anything,” said William. “There’s a cloud—oh, yes!” The note of faith was music. “And there’s a sky—oh, yes!” A stray beam of the September sunset made an effect so remarkable, as it slanted across the upturned eyes, that June paid them rather more attention at the moment than she gave to the canvas.
“Has Uncle Si seen those trees?” she asked suddenly.
“Yes, the master came up to look at them a few minutes ago.”
“What did he say?”
“He just scratched his cheek and changed his spectacles.”
“Did you tell him what you’ve just told me?”