Лето
I
Sheknewthemall,merelostclustersofhousesinthefoldsofthedesolateridges:Dormer,whereNorthDormerwentforitsapples;CrestonRiver,wherethereusedtobeapaper-mill,anditsgreywallsstooddecayingbythestream;andHamblin,wherethefirstsnowalwaysfell.Suchweretheirtitlestofame.
Shegotupandbegantomoveaboutvaguelybeforetheshelves.Butshehadnoideawhereshehadlastputthebook,andsomethingtoldherthatitwasgoingtoplayheritsusualtrickandremaininvisible.Itwasnotoneofherluckydays.
“Iguessit’ssomewhere,”shesaid,toproveherzeal;butshespokewithoutconviction,andfeltthatherwordsconveyednone.
“Oh,well——”hesaidagain.Sheknewhewasgoing,andwishedmorethanevertofindthebook.
“Itwillbefornexttime,”headded;andpickingupthevolumehehadlaidonthedeskhehandedittoher.“Bytheway,alittleairandsunwoulddothisgood;it’srathervaluable.”
Hegaveheranodandsmile,andpassedout.
