IN DIM OCTOBER 



BACK of the crumbling farm-house was 

 an orchard, and back of that, the 

 woods. We took a drink of well- 

 water from a bucket that had just been hauled 

 up, and then started for the timber. The trees 

 in the orchard were ruddy with fruit, and 

 some of it that had been blown down by 

 gusty winds had marks where the jaybirds 

 and woodpeckers had been sampling it. Be- 

 tween the woods and the orchard there was 

 a genuine stake-and-rider fence. As tedious 

 as it is to mount one of these, it is highly pref- 

 erable to the barb-wire monstrosities that scar 

 the land in so many places. A little stretch 

 of clover was at its edge, and from among a 

 strip of corn a crook-necked squash and two 

 pumpkins glowed. An old and half-blind dog 

 followed us to the fence and then turned 

 back. It was absolutely a perfect Indian- 

 summer day, a mass of color, a dream of sun- 

 shine. 



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