Even there it was not cool, but at any rate the contrast to the glaring close-cropped lawn was welcome.
I stared up through the listless, delicate leaves into a sky of Mediterranean blue. Surely, it was the hottest day of summer—of memory.
The flowers with which my little garden is so profusely peopled hung languorously above the borders, and the hum of a binder in the neighbouring wheat field seemed an invitation to siesta.
Down sunny paths, I dropped into oblivion.
A touch awoke me, but my eyes were held tight beneath a pair of cool hands.
"Good gracious," I gasped. "Bless my——"
Tommy laughed and sauntered into view.
"You were making a beastly row," he observed, frankly. "I thought it was a thunderstorm."
I looked at him with envious eyes.