Looking listlessly about for something else to do, she caught
sight of David sitting alone under the willows on the river bank. He
thought himself safely hidden for the reading of his book, but the
foliage was thinner now on the slender golden wands; some of them were
quite bare, and hung like long silken fringes of shining yellow. The
first frost had touched them on the night before; the soft breeze was
freighted with drifting leaves, and there was a fresh sparkle in the
crystalline air.
She had put on a long coat of dove-colored cloth--one of the fine
garments that Philip Alston was always finding for her--on account of
the cool weather, and she was wearing her gypsy bonnet tied down with
its three-cornered handkerchief of white lace, so that she was all ready
for going further from the house. In another moment she was skimming
down the river bank toward the boy. He saw her coming; but she moved so
like a darting swallow that he barely had time to hide his book under
the mossy log on which he was sitting before she fluttered into a seat
beside him, nestling against his arm.
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