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Updated: May 25, 2025
After a few minutes' weary waiting which seemed endless to Marguerite, there came a short word of command from within and she was roughly pushed forward into the room by one of the men. The cool air of a late September's evening gently fanned her burning temples.
Above him stretched the shining sky, thronged with its winds, the low clouds of early autumn trailing their shadows across the woods. All was peace; he saw September's yellow fields, and felt, on his face, the cool fall wind, with its smoke of burning leaves, mingled with the odor of spaded earth, and fresh manure.
The full glory of a September's moon was beaming bright in the clear rich blue of heaven; the stars were glittering in the water's depths, and ever and anon the fire flies flashed like diamonds through the dark foliage on the shore the light fair breeze scarce stirred the ripples on the stream when, from one of the white dwellings on the beach in whose casement a light was yet burning, came a low, sad strain of sorrow.
Unobserved by the others, they had stolen away before the wagon reached Milford. Now they were lying in a field, looking up at the stars, quieter than the crickets, which were singing all about them. September's round moon waned; Indian summer was over. One morning in October Miss Beal, the dressmaker, had taken her sewing to Mr. Jeminy's, in order to spend the day with Mrs. Grumble.
Passing in review these phantom speculations, her eyes suddenly refused the vision of the mythical white road, stretching away in brain-sickening length, and her physical sight caught at the familiar picture revealed by the balcony the thrice-known, thrice-loved shrubbery, where already the glossy holly leaves were stirring under September's fingers, whispering one to the other of fine cold autumn hours when gales would sweep the heights, bringing death to their frailer brethren, while they themselves nestled snug and strong, laughing at the elements.
Late in the afternoon of September's last golden day a wind began to rise among the dunes, and Rachael, who, wrapped in a white wooly coat and deep in a book, had been lying for an hour or two on the beach, was suddenly roused by a shower of sand, and sat up to look at the sky.
You will be interested to learn that I have extended my road to the end of the Malo't country. All headmen and priests concerned in last September's affair worked one month each, supplying road metal from their own houses. Everett's grave is covered by a forty-foot mound, which should serve well as a base for future triangulations. Rutton Singh sends his best salaams.
There'll be swings and steam roundabouts, aye, an' steam-organs playin' all t' latest tunes thro' t' music-halls a lot finer than your daft country songs. An' we'll noan have to wait for t' harvest-moon; there'll be naphtha flares ivery night lightin' up all t' Feast." "Nay, lass, I reckon I'se too owd for Woodhouse Feast; I'll bide at yam. I sal be better when September's oot.
They would "play the game up to the last moment, and see " September's end brought no great change in fortune, but a change withal of deep significance. The ice had begun to run in the Yukon. No man needed telling it would "be a tuhble wintah, and dey'd better move down Souf." All the late boats by both routes had been packed.
The rotten leaves are whirling down Dishevelled from September's crown; The Emperors have left the town; The Weald of Sussex, burnt and brown, Is trampled by the kings. And Harmuth gallops up the Down, And, as he rides, he sings.
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