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IX
They took a walk that evening,
Miles and Hunter and Bistre. There
was a saffron glow in the west, while
low in the sky hung a crescent moon,
its earthward point entangled in the
topmost branches of a maple-tree on
the summit of the dark ridge. They
paused for a moment to converse over
the fence with the Misses Ruggles,
who, wearing gauntleted gloves and
armed with trowels, were transplanting
a brood of window-grown heliotropes
from pots to beds. Later they
indulged in conversation en passant
with the Tafts regarding the weather.
Still further along they saw the re-
