212 THE JONATHAN PAPERS 



warmth of our bodies drew out of it faint odors 

 of salt hay. We did not talk. There are times 

 when one seems to exist in poise, with etern 

 ity on all sides. One s thoughts do not move, 

 they float. 



&quot;Well?&quot; said Jonathan at last. 



I could hear the hay rustle as he straight 

 ened up. 



&quot;Don t interrupt,&quot; I answered. 



But my spirit had come down to earth, and 

 after the first jolt I realized that, as usual, 

 Jonathan was right. 



We plunged out again into the buffeting 

 wind and the starlit darkness, and I followed 

 blindly as Jonathan led across the marshes, 

 around pools, over ditches, until we began to 

 see the friendly twinkle of house lights on the 

 edge of the village. On through the lanes to 

 the highroad, stumbling now and then on its 

 stiffened ruts and ridges. As houses thickened 

 the gale grew noisy, singing in telphone wires, 

 whistling around barn corners, slamming 

 blinds and doors, and rushing in the tree-tops. 



&quot;O for that haymow!&quot; I gasped. 



&quot;The open fire will be better.&quot; Jonathan 

 flung back comfort across the wind. 



