It made a path of gold that wavered and shimmered as the water moved gently, but it appeared sufficiently material to resemble a bridge spanning the lake.
"Seems as if I could walk it," muttered the Harvester.
The owl cried again and the man intently watched the opposite bank.

He could not see the bird, but in the deep wood where he thought it might be he began to discern a misty, moving shimmer of white.

Marvelling, he watched closer.

So slowly he could not detect motion it advanced, rising in height and taking shape.
"Do I end this day by seeing a ghost ?" he queried.
He gazed intently and saw that a white figure really moved in the woods of the opposite bank.
"Must be some boys playing fool pranks!" exclaimed the Harvester.
He watched fixedly with interested face, and then amazement wiped out all other expression and he sat motionless, breathless, looking, intently looking.

For the white object came straight toward the water and at the very edge unhesitatingly stepped upon the bridge of gold and lightly, easily advanced in his direction.