Just _what_ were
you thinking?"
Mrs. Harding went to Mickey, took him by the shoulder, turned him toward
the back door and piloted him to the porch, where she pointed east
indicating an open line. It began as high as his head against the side of
the Harding back wall and ran straight. It crossed the yard between trees
that through no design at all happened to stand in line with those of the
orchard so that they formed a narrow emerald wall on each side of a green-
carpeted space that led to the meadow, where it widened, ran down hill and
crossed lush grass where cattle grazed. Then it climbed a far hill, tree
crested, cloud capped, and in a mist of glory the faint red of the rising
sun worked colour miracles with the edges of cloud rims, tinted them with
flushes of rose, lavender, streaks of vivid red, and a broad stripe of
pale green. Alone, on the brow of the hill, stood one giant old apple
tree, the remains of an early-day orchard. It was widely branching,
symmetrically outlined, backed and coloured by cloud wonder, above and
around it.
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