That long sunny afternoon in the June woods! The shadows of the trees slowly lengthened eastward. The sun sank below the forest boughs and shot its long lances against the tree trunks. It made a straight path of gold, deeper gold, across the yellow grain. The sounds of life died away, the atmosphere grew sweeter with the odours of leaves and grasses and blossoms. Webster recrossed the woods as he had entered it, waded through the nightshade and climbed the fence under the dark tree. It was twilight when he entered the City. As he passed her yard, Jenny bounded across to him joyous, innocent, tender, in a white frock with fresh blue ribbons in her brown hair. "Did you find him?" she asked, her happiness not depending on his answer. "It was not the right place. Tomorrow I am going out further into the country to a better place." "The humming-bird has been here," Jenny announced with an air of saying that she had been more successful as a naturalist. He made no reply: as the veteran observer of a day, he had somewhat outgrown the trumpet-vine arbour and the ruby-throat. He lingered close to the fence. Jenny lingered. He moved off, disappointed but devoid of speech. "Come back!" Jenny whispered, with reproach and vexation. It was the first invitation. It was the first acceptance of an invitation. There would have been a second acceptance but the invitation was not there to accept. When Webster turned in at his home gate, everything was just as he had foreseen: his father sat on one side of the porch, smoking the one daily cigar; his mother faced him from the opposite side, slowly rocking. Elinor crouched on the top step between them: he would have to walk around her or over her. His father laughed heartily as he sauntered up. "Well, my son, where is your game bag? What have you brought us for breakfast?" Webster looked crestfallen: he returned empty-handed but not empty-minded: he had had a great rich day; they thought it an idle wasted one. "Some of the boys have been here for you," said his mother. "They left word you must be certain to meet them, in the morning for the game. Freshen yourself up and I'll give you your supper." Elinor said nothing--a bad sign with her. She sat with her sharp little chin resting on her palms and with her eyes on him with calculating secrecy. He stepped around her. His room had never seemed so cramped after those hours in the woods under the open sky. The whole cottage seemed so unnatural, everything in the City so unnatural, after that day in the forest. At supper he had not much to say; his mother talked to him: "I put my berries away to eat with you for company." They ate their berries together. He felt tired and said he would go to bed. His room was darkened when he returned to it; he felt sure he had left his lamp burning; someone had been in it. He lighted his lamp again.