The Longest Day In All The Year Was Slowly Closing Over The Little
Village Of Clayton. There Were No Loiterers Now At The Corners Of The
Streets Or On The Village Square--It Was Too Late For That, Though
Daylight Still Lingered. Now And Then The Silence Was Broken By The
Footsteps Of Some Late Home-Comer, And Over More Than One Narrow Close,
The Sound Of Boyish Voices Went And Came, From Garret To Garret, Telling
That The Spirit Of Slumber Had Not Yet Taken Possession Of The Place.
Posts and Comments
