Under the Big Dipper

On the Saturday which was to be his last in town for some weeks to come, Morton decided to lunch at his club before leaving for Tarrytown. On the way he stopped his brougham at a gunsmith’s to purchase a rifle and ammunition for his hunting trip. Was it fate or did a mischievous fairy plan it?

It was a lovely day, one of those days on which in certain places of the earth, far from the madding crowd, fairies would come out of their secret places and dance in the green glades of the cool forest. New York’s cañons of streets were blue and gold under the gracious sunlit skies. Surely one of those lively sprites must have mistaken the city in its shining beauty for a new kind of forest; for of a certainty he was there. He must have skipped in past the yawning policeman at the corner, heedless of the noise and the crowds, and careless of the consequences. Seeing Morton in his carriage he must have whispered to him to stop at the gunsmith’s shop

← Page-665 p.666 Page-667 →