He heard the dry leaves rustling possibly.
"Keep to the gravel paths," began Aunt Emily, adjusting her gold
glasses; "they're dry"--then changed her sentence, smiling to herself:
"They're so beautifully made, I mean." And gathering up her bundle of
living ferns, she walked briskly over the broken ground, then straight
across the lawn, waving her trowel at them as she vanished in the
shade below the lime trees. The shade, however, seemed deeper than
before. It concealed her quickly.
"I'll be moving on now," came the deep voice of the Policeman. He
opened the gate in the fence and consulted a notebook as he did so. He
passed slowly out of sight, closing the gate behind him carefully. His
heavy tramp became audible on the road outside, the road leading to
the Metropolis. "There's some one asking the way--" his voice was
audible a moment, before it died into the distance. The road, the
gateway, the fence were not so clear as hitherto--a trifle dim.
These various movements took place so quickly, it seemed they all took
place at once; Judy still heard the bird, however. She heard nothing
else. It was singing everywhere, the sky full of its tender and
delicious song.
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