A Cool, Gray Day. 



197 



to the doubting pedestrian to come. The fringe 

 of forest that hems in the river was asleep. The 

 unresting tide flowed by in sullen silence and 

 passed the rocky shore without a ripple. The 

 purple spires of the pickerel-weed scarcely bent to 



the current of the outflowing water, and the 

 tangled ribbon-grass that at each succeeding mo- 

 ment came more and more to view, moved so 

 slowly that even it seemed weary. Silence rested 

 upon the scene. The summer's work was finished, 



