106 THE GARDEN, YOU, AND I 



innocently said, "Oh, has it begun, and am I intruding 

 and breaking up plans? Why didn't you tell me?" 



So we went out through the sweet- smelling twilight, 

 or rather the glow that comes before it, and as we idly 

 sipped the coffee, lo and behold, the old farm lay before 

 us a dream picture painted by the twilight ! The little 

 window-panes, iridescent with age and bulged into odd 

 shapes by yielding sashes, caught the sunset hues and 

 turned to fire opals ; the light mist rising over the green 

 meadows where the flowers now slept with heads bent 

 and eyes closed lent the green and pearl tints of those 

 mysterious gems to which drops of rain or dew strung 

 everywhere made diamond settings. 



"By Jove!" exclaimed Bart, "how beautiful the 

 Opie farm looks to-night ! If a real- estate agent could 

 only get a photograph of what we see, we should soon 

 have a neighbour to rescue the place !" 



"You mustn't call it the Opie farm any more; it 

 is Opal Farm from to-night!" I cried, "and no one 

 snail buy it unless they promise to leave in the old win- 

 dows and let the meadow and crab orchard stay as 

 they are, besides giving me right of way through it 

 quite down to the river woods !" 



But to get back by this circuitous route to the threat- 

 ened danger with which I opened this letter 



