Poynter's highly sympathetic nature led him to eulogize the lowlier and
less poetic life of the woodland, the result was frequently of striking
originality.
Convinced that Mr. Poynter's eyes were upon her from the hay-camp,
Diane read the ode with absolute gravity and consigned it to the fire.
The minstrel's attitude toward the hay-nomad might be one of subtle
undermining and shrugging ridicule, but surely with his imperturbable
gift of satire, Mr. Poynter held the cards!
Still another morning Diane found a book at the edge of her camp.
"I am dropping this accidentally as I leave," read the fly leaf in
Philip's scrawl. "I don't want you to suspect my classic tastes, but
what can I do if you find the book!"
It was a volume of Herodotus in the original Greek!
CHAPTER XXIII
LETTERS
Buckwheat was cut, harvest brooded hazily over the land and the fields
were bright with goldenrod when Diane turned sharply across Virginia to
Kentucky.
"It is already autumn," she wrote to Ann Sherrill. "The summer has
flown by like a bright-winged bird. For days now the forests have been
splashed with red and gold. The orchards are heavy with harvest
apples, the tassels of the corn are dark and rusty, and the dooryards
of the country houses riot gorgeously in scarlet sage and marigold,
asters and gladiolas.
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