was a clump of
old pine trees, the remnant of a grove which had once flourished in the
sandy soil. There was something in the desolation of the place that
flattered Putnam's mood, and he stopped to take it in. The air was dusk,
but embers of an angry sunset burned low in the west. A cold wind made a
sound in the pine-tops like the beating of surf on a distant shore. A
flock of little winter birds flew suddenly up from the ground into one
of the trees, like a flight of gray leaves whirled up by a gust. As
Putnam turned to look at them he saw, against the strip of sunset along
the horizon, the slim figure of a girl walking rapidly toward the
opposite side of the common. His heart gave a great leap, and he started
after her on a run. At a corner of the open ground the figure vanished,
nor could Putnam decide into which of two or three small streets she had
turned. He ran down one and up another, but met no one except a few
laborers coming home from work, and finally gave up the quest. But this
momentary glimpse produced in him a new excitement. He felt sure that he
had not been mistaken: he knew the swift, graceful step, the slight form
bending in the wind. He fancied that he had even recognized the poise
and shape of the little head. He imagined, too, that he had not been
unobserved, and that she had some reason for avoiding him. For a week or
more he haunted the vicinity of the common, but without result. December
was already drawing to an end when he received the following note:

"DEAR MR. PUTNAM: You must forgive me for running away from you
the other evening: I am right--am I not?--in supposing that you
saw and recognized me. It was rude in me not to wait for you,
but I had not courage to talk with any one just then. Perhaps I
should have seen you before at the cemetery--if you still walk
there--but I have been sick and have not been there for a long
time. I was only out for the first time when I saw you last
Friday. My aunt has sent for me, and I am going South in a few
days. I shall leave directions to have this posted to you as
soon as I am gone.

"I promised to be here when you came back, and I write this to
thank you for your kind interest in me and to explain why I go
away without seeing you again. I think that I know what you
wanted to ask me that day that we went to the green-house, and
perhaps under happier circumstances I could have