The hens clucked around drowsily with drooping wings.

A warm breeze stirred the grasses where he lay.
Ivy dug in the dirt with a broken spoon, while Bud kicked up his heels beside John Jay, listening to a marvellous account of Miss Hallie's party.

It lost nothing in the telling.

For years after, John Jay looked back upon that night as a John of Patmos might have looked, remembering some vision of the opened heavens.

The lights, the music, the white-robed figures, and above all, that wonderful fountain looking as if it must have sprung from some "sea of glass mingled with fire," did not belong to the earth with which he was acquainted.