This last placard had broken from two
of its fastenings, and towards midnight flapped loudly in an eddy of
the light wind. The sleeper stirred, and passed a languid hand over
his face. A spider within the porch had been busy while he slept, and
his hand encountered gossamer.
His eyes opened. He sat upright, and lowered his bare feet upon
the flags. Outside, the blue firmament was full of stars sparkling
unevenly, as though the wind were trying in sport to puff them out.
In the eaves of the porch he could hear the martins rustling in the
crevices--they had returned but a few days back to their old quarters.
But what drew the man to step out under the sky was the cottage-window
over the wall.
The lattice was pushed back and the room inside was brightly lit. But
between him and the lamp a white sheet had been stretched right across
the window; and on this sheet two quick hands were weaving all kinds
of clever shadows, shaping them, moving them, or reshaping them with
the speed of summer lightning.
It was certainly a remarkable performance.
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