one fell
behind her. Finally, catching the protruding roots of a great sycamore
whose shadow had guided her, she gained the top. The moon, invisible in
the vale, now greeted her as it rose superbly above a dark woodland
across a wide stretch of intervening field. But there were nearer lights
than those of star and moon, and their presence afforded her a thrill of
surprise.

Clearer now came the strains of music. Here was a combination of
phenomena that informed the familiar region with strangeness. The music
came from a barn, and she remembered that barn well as a huge, gloomy
affair on the Holton farm. Satisfied of this, Phil turned,
half-unconsciously, and glanced up at the sycamore. That hoary old
landmark defined a boundary, and a boundary which, on various accounts,
it was incumbent upon the great-granddaughter of Amzi Montgomery I to
observe. A dividing fence ran from the sycamore, straight toward the
moon. It was a "stake-and-rider" fence, and the notches on the Holton
side of it were filled with wild raspberry, elderberry, and weeds; but
on the Montgomery side these interstices were free of such tangle. The
fact that lights and music advertised the Holton farm to the eye and ear
seemed to Phil a matter worthy of her attention. The corn was in the
shock on the Montgomery side; the adjacent Holton field had lain fallow
that year. The shocks of corn suggested to Phil's imagination the tents
of an unsentineled host or an abandoned camp; but she walked fearlessly
toward the lights and music, bent upon investigation. The moon would not
for some time creep high enough to light the valley and disturb her
father's vigil by the camp-fire: there need be no haste, for even if he
missed her he would not be alarmed.

The old Holton house and its outbuildings lay near the fence and Phil
calculated that without leaving her ancestral acres she would be able to
determine exactly the nature and extent of this unprecedented revelry in
the Holton barn. She approached as near as possible and rested her arms
on the rough top rail of the fence. There were doors on both sides of
the lumbering old structure, and her tramp across the cornfield was
rewarded by a comprehensive view of the scene within. The music ceased
and she heard voices--gay, happy voices--greeting some late-comers whose
automobile had just "chug-chugged" into the barnyard. She saw, beyond
the brilliantly lighted interior, the motors and carriages that had
conveyed the