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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-

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