She struck into the soft, dusty road at a quick, swinging pace, the
fruit of much walking, and the big yellow cat pattered at her side.
The night was almost windless; sweet, nameless odors poured up from
the heated summer soil; the shadows of the grasses were outlined
like Japanese pictures on the white roadway. Except for the child
and the cat, no living being moved, as far as the eye could see;
only the burdocks and mulleins swayed almost imperceptibly with
breezes so delicate that the leaf tips of the trees could not feel
them.
A great white moth, blundering against a heavy thistle head, tumbled
against Caroline's elbow and fluttered clumsily into her face. She
started, blinked, drew a long breath, and woke with a frightened
gasp. Before her stretched the pale, curving road; above her the
spangled sky throbbed and glittered; the earth, drenched in
moonlight, beautiful as all lovely creatures caught sleeping,
breathed softly into her face and with every breath put courage into
her heart.
She looked down and saw the yellow cat, stopping, with one lifted
paw, his green, lamplike eyes fixed unwaveringly on hers.
"Why, it's you, Red Rufus!" she whispered, "when did we come here? I
don't remember--"
A bat whirred by: the cat pricked his ears.
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