Fanny is wiping her hands, which are somewhat soiled; the rest of
the company are laughing merrily at the disappearance of the kite;
Longears is gravely and seriously contemplating the yellow enemy with
whom he has struggled so violently, and whose conqueror he believes
himself to be.
This was the incident so frequently spoken of by Mr. Ralph Ashley
afterwards, as the Bucolic of the kite.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
THE HARVEST MOON.
The day was nearly gone now, dying over fir-clad hills; but yet,
before it went, poured a last flood of rich, red light, such as only
the mountains and the valley boast, upon the beautiful sloping meadow,
stretching its green and dewy sea in front of Apple Orchard.
As the sun went away in royal splendor, bounding over the rim of
evening, like a red-striped tiger--on the eastern horizon a light rose
gradually, as though a great conflagration raged there. Then the
trees were kindled; then the broad, yellow moon--call it the harvest
moon!--soared slowly up, dragging its captive stars, and mixing its
fresh radiance with the waning glories of the crimson west.
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