ep sand around the clump of rhododendron.
The creek was clear as crystal once more, but no geese cackled and
no dog barked. The door of the spring-house gaped wide, the barn-door
sagged on its hinges, the yard-fence swayed drunkenly, and the cabin was
still as a gravestone. But the garden was alive, and he swung from his
horse at the gate, and with his hands clasped behind his back walked
slowly through it. June's garden! The garden he had planned and planted
for June--that they had tended together and apart and that, thanks to
the old miller's care, was the one thing, save the sky above, left in
spirit unchanged. The periwinkles, pink and white, were almost gone. The
flags were at half-mast and sinking fast. The annunciation lilies were
bending their white foreheads to the near kiss of death, but the pinks
were fragrant, the poppies were poised on slender stalks like brilliant
butterflies at rest, the hollyhocks shook soundless pink bells to
the wind, roses as scarlet as June's lips bloomed everywhere and the
richness of mid-summer was at hand.

Quietly Hale walked the paths, taking a last farewell of plant and
flower, and only the sudden patter of raindrops made him lift his eyes
to the angry sky. The storm was coming now in earnest and he had hardly
time to lead his horse to the barn and dash to the porch when the very
heavens, with a crash of thunder, broke loose. Sheet after sheet swept
down the mountains like wind-driven clouds of mist thickening into water
as they came. The shingles rattled as though with the heavy slapping
of hands, the pines creaked and the sudden dusk outside made the cabin,
when he pushed the door open, as dark as night. Kindling a fire, he lit
his pipe and waited. The room was damp and musty, but the presence of
June almost smothered him. Once he turned his face. June's door was ajar
and the key was in the lock. He rose to go to it and look within and
then dropped heavily back into his chair. He was anxious to get away
now--to get to work. Several times he rose restlessly and looked out the
window. Once he went outside and crept along the wall of the cabin to
the east and the west, but there was no break of light in the murky sky
and he went back to pipe and fire. By and by the wind died and the rain
steadied into a dogged downpour. He knew what that meant--there would be
no letting up now in the storm, and for another night he was a prisoner.
So he went to his saddle-pockets and pulled out a