p burning as bright for all the distance, as if it hung just
over those trees, still, and faint with shadows.

"See," said Anna, "there's our light."

But Thomas did not even lift his head to look. In the chilly, solemn,
night air, he was warm and drowsy with his own silence, which being all
too full of things to say was like to turn him into sugar with pure
sorrow. And Anna, her round lips parted with desire, waited for him to
speak, and held his hand tighter and tighter.

"Starlight," she murmured, "starbright, very first star I see to-night,
wish I may, wish I might . . ."

"Sky's full of stars," said Thomas.

"Do you know what I wished?"

"Do I?"

"Don't you?"

He looked at her in silence; awkwardly, then, she drew him down, until
her lips brushed his cheek.

"Look at Elsie," she murmured. "Did you ever?"

But Thomas would not look at Elsie; not until Anna had told him her
wish. "Wish I may, wish I might . . ."

"Have the wish . . ."

But she would only whisper it in his ear.

Miles away, in Mrs. Wicket's cottage, Mr. Jeminy sat dreaming, and
rocking up and down. He had come to keep an eye on Juliet, so that
Mrs. Wicket could sit with Mrs. Tomkins, who was feeling poorly. While
Juliet, at his feet, played with her dolls, Mr. Jeminy gave himself up
to reflection. He thought: "The little insects which run about my
garden paths at home, and eat what I had intended for myself, are not
more lonely than I am. For here, within the walls of my mind, there is
only myself. And you, Anna Barly, you cannot give poor Thomas Frye
what he wishes. Do not deceive yourself; when you are gone, he will be
as lonely as before. Come, confess, in your heart that pleases you;
you would not have it otherwise. We are all lenders and borrowers
until we die; it is only the dead who give."

When Juliet was tired of playing, she put her dolls to bed, and settled
herself in Mr. Jeminy's lap. There, while the lamplight danced across
the walls, drowsy with sleep, she ended her day. "Tell me a story.
Tell me about the big, white bull, who swam over the sea."

"Hm . . . well . . . once upon a time there was a great white
bull . . ."

Then Mr. Jeminy rehearsed again the story of long, long ago, while the
bright eyes closed, and the tired head drooped lower and lower; while
the autumn moon rose up above the hills, and the haywagon rumbled along
the road, to the sound of laughter and cries.

But Thomas Frye and Anna