A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE 167 



came far-away light strands groping for our eyes, and 

 soft, half-uttered music questioning the ear. Returning 

 I opened my eyes, and there was the sun struggling 

 slowly through the screen of white birches in Opie's wood 

 lot, and scattering the night mists that bound down the 

 Opal Farm with heavy strands ; the air was tense with 

 flitting wings, bird music rose, fell, and drifted with the 

 mist, and it was only half-past four ! You cannot kill 

 time, you see, by stopping clocks with nature day 7s, 

 beyond all dispute. In two days, by obeying instead 

 of opposing natural sun time, we had swung half round 

 the clock, only now and then imitating the habits of our 

 four-footed brothers that steal abroad in the security 

 of twilight. 



June 24. Amos Opie, the carpenter, owner of Opal 

 Farm, is now keeping widower's hall in the summer 

 kitchen thereof. A thin thread of smoke comes idly from 

 the chimney of the lean-to in the early morning, and at 

 evening the old man sits in the well-house porch reading 

 his paper so long as the light lasts, a hound of the 

 ancient blue-spotted variety, with heavy black and tan 

 markings, keeping him company. 



These two figures give the finishing touch to the pic- 

 ture that lies beyond us as we look from the sheltered cor- 

 ner of the camp, and strangely enough, though old Opie 



