It was gloriously starlight when the buckboard rattled out on the Plank Road. Timothy, wretched as he was at her concern over the locket, was yet recklessly, magnificently happy in being alone by her side in the warm dusk, and on her ministry. She was silent, and, for almost the first time since he had known her, Timothy was silent too--as if he were giving his inarticulateness honest expression instead of forcing it continually to antics of speech. From the top of the hill they looked down on the Pump pasture. It lay there, silent and dark, but no longer expressionless; for instantly their imagination quickened it with all the music and colour and life of the afternoon. Just as Timothy's silence was now of the pattern of dreams. He tied the horse, and together they entered the field by the great open place where the fence had not yet been replaced. The turf was still soft and yielding, in spite of all the treading feet. The pasture was girdled by trees--locusts and box-alders outlined dimly upon the sky, nest-places for orioles; and here and there a great oak or a cottonwood made a mysterious figure on the stars. One would have said that underfoot would certainly be violets. A far light pricked out an answer to their lantern, and a nearer firefly joined the signalling. "I keep thinkin' the way it looked here this afternoon," said Liva once. "That's funny, so do I," he cried. Under the cottonwood on the slope, its leaves stirring like little banners, Timothy flashed his light, first on tufted grass, then on red-tasselled sorrel, then--lying there as simply as if it belonged there--on Liva's silver locket. She caught it from him with a little cry. "Oh," she said, "I'm so glad. Oh, thank you ever so much, Timmie." He faced her for a moment. "Why are you so almighty glad?" he burst out. "Why, it's the first locket I ever had!" she said in surprise. "So of course I'm glad. Oh, Timmie--thank you!" "You're welcome, I'm sure," he returned stiffly. She gave a little skipping step beside him. "Timmie," she said, "let's circle round a little ways and come by where the big tent was. I want to see how it'll seem." His ill-humour was gone in a moment. "That's what we _will_ do!" he cried joyously. He walked beside her, his lantern swinging a little rug of brightness about their feet. So they passed the site of the big red ticket wagon, of the Eastern vaudeville, of the phototype tent; so they traversed the length where had stretched the great elliptical tent that had prisoned for them colour and music and life, as in a cup. And so at last they stepped along that green way of the pasture where underfoot lay the grass and the not infrequent moss and clover, not yet wholly trampled to dust; and this was where there had been assembled bright-winged birds of orange and flame and creatures of the wild from the Antipodes, and where Strange Things had closed them round.