THE LOOM OF AUTUMN 213 



from the shed the apples spread for 

 drying, and tomatoes kept for seed, 

 and tucks an old quilt about her ragged 

 chrysanthemums. 



Four o'clock and the wind dies 

 away, but leaves all its sharpness in 

 the air. How clear it is ! You can 

 trace all the distant hills, the ripples 

 on the waters of the Sound clearly 

 mark the currents, and the Long Island 

 shore, twelve miles across, is sharply 

 definite. Every twig snap resounds, 

 and the jay's scream is percussive. Ah ! 

 they are nutting now, carrying the 

 acorns from the red oaks in the dell to 

 a hollow sassafras, and the squirrels 

 chuckle and look very wise. The air 

 is alert with a sense of change. You 

 are restless also, you cannot go indoors, 

 the garden of summer hours holds out 

 its begging hands, already cold and 

 bloodless. 



