"Sonny," said Jesse, "don't you drop Maria, or she'll have puppies."
"I did, and she didn't; so there! Something dropped out, though. See, mummie."
David had thrown Maria into my lap, and danced about in the gloaming with some strange trophy, the tail of a large animal.
"Sort of reminds me," said Jesse, "of being a little boy. That's the Inspector's tale. This is a long way, too, from the Labrador."
The wind made quite a disturbance, telling the pines to hush, while both my son and Jesse wanted to play with the wolf tail, and would not be quiet, though already the stars and the fireflies had lighted Cathedral Grove, and the great river like an organ crooned the first deep notes of nature's even-song. An awed expectant silence came to us.
"Lighten our darkness," said the grave old trees, "we beseech Thee."
"By Thy great mercy," pleaded the little flowers.
"Defend us from all perils," the small birds twittered.
"And dangers of the night," the aspens quavered.
"For the love of Thy only Son," cried the South Wind.