“Yes,” he groaned, “I promise.”
For an instant he was looking far, far down into dim, wonderful violet depths....
Then he was alone. He turned unseeingly toward the canoe and trod upon the book which lay forgotten on the grass. Stooping, he rescued it and dropped it into his pocket.
“I’m getting to be an awful thief!” he murmured tremulously.
[X.]
A glorious golden afternoon, a scintillant silvery night, and then—Dawn’s pink finger-tips aquiver on the edges of the hills and the bursting forth of a new day to the exultant overture of Nature’s orchestra.
Ethan looked forth from the open window on to the most beautiful sight given to the eyes of mortals,—the fresh, sparkling morning world of summer seen through the magnifying lenses of love. The orchard was fresh and vivid with the tender greens of sun-shot leaves and grass, and dark and cool with pools of pleasant shadow. Dew-gems shimmered under the caressing breeze and the tips of the spreading, reaching branches nodded and whispered together. Beyond, the little silver-voiced river laughed amongst its shallows and flashed in the sunlight. From the marshland came the happy gurgle of a flock of red-winged blackbirds, while fainter, yet sweet and clear, the light-hearted tinkle of the bobolink floated across from the rising meadows. Sleek, well-conditioned robins balanced amidst the apple-trees and sang contentedly between groomings of their red waistcoats. And louder, clearer, gladder sang Ethan’s heart.