between the branches, as he stepped from shadow into moonlight, and
again into shadow. Under the trees the dry, fallen leaves stirred
about his feet, and other leaves, which he could not see, fell near him
in the dark. As he passed the little orchard belonging to Mrs. Wicket,
he heard the ripe apples dropping in the night.

In the gray of dawn, he found himself approaching a farmhouse somewhere
south of Milford, whose lighted lamp, pale yellow in the early
twilight, drew him from the road, across the fields. As he turned
through the tumbled gate, a woman came to the door, her dress billowing
back from her in the breeze.

"Come in, old man," she said.




X

BUT HE IS SOUGHT AFTER ALL

In Mrs. Tomkin's garden the hydrangeas were already pink with frost,
and the leaves of the maples, fallen upon the ground, covered the earth
with patches of yellow and red. By the side of the road, piles of
leaves, raked together by Mr. Tomkins, were set on fire; they burned
with a crackle and a roar, and gave off an odor at once pungent and
regretful, which mingled in the fresh autumn air with the fragrance of
grapes and cider, as the last apples of the season, too old and ripe to
keep, went to the press back of the barn.