He looked and listened; nothing moved but the flicker of sun on a wind-stirred leaf or a winged insect in the green arcades of fern. Far back we heard the call of jays ending in a light high note of mocking laughter.
“Herman, shall we never find them?”
“Perhaps. Who knows? The trail is very plain here. If we take pains to notice it, we might come this way again.”
“Yes, let us keep the trail at least. We must find the place again. They have not forbidden us.”
We followed it close where it left the trees and ran in the grass between the blossoming lilacs. Wet folded poppies bent above it.
“It was a good time we had with them. I cannot bear to think it will never come again.”
“Yes, it was a good time. How long was it, Mona?”
“How should I know? Do you remember, the first day we went in by Broken Tree there was the first spray of lilac blossoming?”
“I remember.”
“And now all the slopes are blue and the air too sweet with them. How long is that?”