ware of their cautious avoidance of
contact with the grass itself. The nearest onlookers stood a respectful
yard back and when unbalanced by the push of those behind went through
such antics to avoid treading on it, while at the same time preserving
the convention of innocence of any taboo that they frequently pivoted
and pirouetted on one foot in an awkward ballet. The very hiding of
their inhibition emphasized the new awesomeness of the grass; it was no
longer to be lightly approached or frivolously treated.

Now I am not what is generally called a man of religious sensibilities,
having long ago discarded belief in the supernatural; and I am not
overcome at odd moments by mystical feelings. Furthermore I had been
intimate with this particular patch of vegetation for some eighteen
hours. I had viewed its decaying state; I had injected life into it; I
had seen it in the first flush of resurrection. In spite of all this, I
too fell under the spell of the grass and knew something compounded of
wonder and apprehension.

The neatly cut swaths of the little man with the jimdandy mower came to
a dramatic end in the middle of the yard. Beyond this shorn portion the
grass rose in a threatening crest, taller than a man's knees; green,
aloof and derisive. But it was not this forbidding sight which gave me
such a queer turn. It was the mown part; for I recalled how the brisk
man's machine had cut close and left behind short, crisp stems. Now this
piece was almost as high as when I'd first seen it--grown faster in an
hour than ordinary grass in a month.

_5._ I stole a look at Miss Francis to see how she was taking the sight,
but there was no emotion visible on her face. The toothpick was once
more in play and the luminous eyes fixed straight ahead. Her legs were
spread apart and she seemed firmly in position for hours to come, as
though she would wait for the grass to exhaust its phenomenal growth.

"Why did they quit cutting?" I asked the man standing beside me.

"Mower give out--dulled the blades so they wouldnt cut no more."

"Going to give up and let it grow?"

"Hell, no. Sent for a gardener with a powermower. Big one. Cut anything.
Ought to be here now."

He was, too, honking the crowd from the driveway. Mrs Dinkman was with
him, looking at once indignant, persecuted, uncomfortable and
selfrighteous. It was evident they had failed to reach any agreement.

The gardener slammed the door of the senescent truck with ve