Jeminy's lap. There, while the lamplight danced across
the walls, drowsy with sleep, she ended her day. "Tell me a story.
Tell me about the big, white bull, who swam over the sea."
"Hm . . . well . . . once upon a time there was a great white
bull . . ."
Then Mr. Jeminy rehearsed again the story of long, long ago, while the
bright eyes closed, and the tired head drooped lower and lower; while
the autumn moon rose up above the hills, and the haywagon rumbled along
the road, to the sound of laughter and cries.
But Thomas Frye and Anna Barly were no longer seated in the hay,
watching the harvest in. 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.
VII
MRS. GRUMBLE GOES TO THE FAIR
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.
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