was as though Nature had found a day mislaid from Indian summer and had frugally tucked it into December.
 | An image should appear at this position in the text. To use the entire page scan as a placeholder, edit this page and replace "{{missing image}}" with "{{raw image|An orchard princess (IA orchardprincess00barbiala).pdf/215}}". Otherwise, if you are able to provide the image then please do so. For guidance, see Wikisource:Image guidelines and Help:Adding images. |  |
Miles climbed the breach in the
stone wall and went softly through the
orchard. The gnarled, low-spreading
trees were deep in their winter slumber.
Beneath them the turf was carpeted
thickly with leaves limp and
brown. There were no clustered blossoms
to obstruct his view, and, once
over the wall, Miles could see the sunlit
glade and the little brook, its course
marked by a ribbon of crystal blue.
Beside the brook, looking toward the
road, as though striving to reproduce
in mind the scene she had put upon
canvas, stood the Princess. Her back
was toward him, and, with fast-beating
heart, Miles went softly down the
slope. But Bistre was little inclined
for such slow going, and so, while
