From where I lay I could see the sharp tops of the spruces against the silvery sky . The frost was abroad , and the winds were still and the land lay in glamour . Across the hall , the Story Girl was telling Felicity and Cecily the old , old tale of Argive Helen and `` evil-hearted Paris . '' `` But that 's a bad story , '' said Felicity when the tale was ended . `` She left her husband and run away with another man . '' `` I suppose it was bad four thousand years ago , '' admitted the Story Girl . `` But by this time the bad must have all gone out of it . It 's only the good that could last so long . '' Our summer was over . It had been a beautiful one . We had known the sweetness of common joys , the delight of dawns , the dream and glamour of noontides , the long , purple peace of carefree nights . We had had the pleasure of bird song , of silver rain on greening fields , of storm among the trees , of blossoming meadows , and of the converse of whispering leaves . We had had brotherhood with wind and star , with books and tales , and hearth fires of autumn . Ours had been the little , loving tasks of every day , blithe companionship , shared thoughts , and adventuring . Rich were we in the memory of those opulent months that had gone from us -- richer than we then knew or suspected . And before us was the dream of spring . It is always safe to dream of spring . For it is sure to come ; and if it be not just as we have pictured it , it will be infinitely sweeter . DING-DONG ! Ding-dong !
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Cecily Ding-dong Felicity Girl Paris day nights noontides spruces storm