![]() It wandered along in curves and easy angles, swayed off and up in a pleasant tangent to the top of a small hill, ambled down again between fringes of bee-hung clover, and then cut sidewise across a meadow. The road that led to Treegap had been trod out long before by a herd of cows who were, to say the least, relaxed. The wood was at the center, the hub of the wheel.Ī Ferris wheel has one, as the sun is the hub of the wheeling calendar.įixed points they are, and best left undisturbed, for without them, nothing holds together.īut sometimes people find this out too late. He was looking for someone, but he didn't say who.īut things can come together in strange ways. She was going there, as she did once every ten years, to meet her two sons, Miles and Jesse.Īt noontime, Winnie Foster, whose family owned the Treegap wood, lost her patience at last and decided to think about running away.Īnd at sunset a stranger appeared at the Fosters' gate. One day at that time, not so very long ago, three things happened and at first there appeared to be no connection between them.Īt dawn, Mae Tuck set out on her horse for the wood at the edge of the village of Treegap. These are strange and breathless days, the dog days, when people are led to do things they are sure to be sorry for after. Often at night there is lightning, but it quivers all alone. ![]() It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. ![]()
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