Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

Having on my oldest clothes, I went by way of the Back Alley. The sun was directly ahead of me. The alley was overgrown with grass which sparkled brilliantly. Trees at the far end of the way, were dimmed by sunlit mists. Bullard’s pasture was dotted with spider-webs, which were white with dew. On the wire fence enclosing the field, webs of orb-weaver spiders, sagged heavily, thickly coated with dew.

Bill was not up yet, but in response to my knock he came stumbling sleepily down the stairs. He had to rub his eyes vig­orously before he could comprehend what I wanted. First he wanted to know where I was going, then how far it was and finally when intended to be back. Seeing he was trying to get out of keeping the date I said it was three miles to the place and that it was doubtful when we would get back. We meandered around in his con­versation, informing me of the