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Updated: October 23, 2026
A sudden blast of wind lifted a cloud of dust from before them and twisted it down among the meadows; the sun thrust aside his shroud and burnt for an instant on a scarlet maple-bough that hung in premature brilliance across the way. The hasty color, true and fine, was like a spell against enchantment; it was the drop that tested the virtue of this chemistry and proved it naught. Mrs.
"They must be back by this time," said Gypsy; "Tom!" There was no answer. "Tom! Thom-as! Mr. Hallam!" A bird chirped in a maple-bough overhead, and a spark cracked out of the smouldering hickory fire; there was no other sound. "I guess they're busy in their tent," said Gypsy, going up to it. But the tent was empty. "They haven't come!" exclaimed Sarah.