36
HILLSBORO PEOPLE
to the door, stood looking half-wildly out into the haunted twilight.
The faint sound of the brook rose liquid in the quiet evening air.
There, where the butternut tree stood, had been the garden!
The white birches answered with a rustling stir in all their lightly poised leaves.
Up there, where the oaks were, had been the hay-field!
The twilight darkened. Through the forest, black on the crest of the overhanging mountain, shone suddenly the evening star.
There, before the door, had stood the waiting wood-sled!
The girl caught through the gathering dusk a gleam of magenta from the corner of the clearing.
Two hermit thrushes, distant in the forest, began to send up their poignant antiphonal evening chant.
