It brought back the school days, the vacation days, the Indian summer days when the hills were golden and the purple haze hung over the land--the days that were to be no more for Daren Lane.
In the distance somewhere a motor-car hummed, and came closer, louder down the street, to slow its sound with sliding creak and jar outside in front of the house.

Lane heard laughter and voices of a party of young people.

Footsteps, heavy and light, came up the walk, and on to the porch.

Lorna was returning rather late from the motion-picture, thought Lane, and he raised his head from the pillow, to lean toward the open window, listening.
"Come across, kiddo," said a boy's voice, husky and low.
Lane heard a kiss--then another.
"Cheese it, you boob!" "Gee, your gettin' snippy.

Say, will you ride out to Flesher's to-morrow night ?" "Nothing doing, I've got a date.