168 THE GARDEN OF A 



watch to see and enjoy the bonfires that flickered 

 from hill to hill quite out to the point that runs 

 into the bay, and make a festival of "watching in" 

 winter. 



Evan and I went together to the hilltop well back 

 of the house and woods, where Bertie had collected 

 a grand pyre of stubble, shrub trimmings, and weed 

 hay from the roadsides, all capped and held in place 

 by pine and hemlock boughs that had been cut away 

 in clearing the meandering cowpath that was to be 

 the walk through our wild garden in the wood lot. 



It was a beautiful night, the many voices coming 

 from afar and the vivid flames lent an air of newness 

 and mystery to familiar surroundings. Every time 

 Evan stirred the pile with his fork, the landscape 

 perspective changed, and now and then a weasel, 

 a fox, or some other little night-prowling animal, 

 startled from its lair, would dart across a streak of 

 light, to be instantly swallowed by the darkness again. 



Finally the last flicker died away ; and when noth- 

 ing remained but a glowing circle of embers that 

 could do no harm in the middle of the ploughed 

 field, we strolled slowly home, Evan with his coat on 

 his arm, and I fanning my face which the fire had 

 toasted, with my useful but rather dilapidated hat 

 which had seen service as carrier for nuts or small 



