dog in hot chase.

"Bug's bunny! I hope the big murderer will miss it," Fenneben thought.

The roadside bushes half hid him. As the crashing sound of the huge dog
through the underbrush ceased he noticed a woman coming leisurely toward him.
Her arms were full of bitter-sweet berries and flaming autumn leaves.
She wore no hat and Fenneben saw that her gray hair was wound like a
coronal about her head. Before he could catch sight of her face a heavy
staggering step was beside him, and old Bond Saxon, muttering and
shaking his clenched fists, passed beyond him toward the woman.
Lloyd Fenneben's own fists clenched, but he sat stone still.
The woman seemed to melt into the bushes and obliterate herself entirely,
while the drunken man stalked unsteadily on toward where she had been.
Then shaking his fists vehemently at the pigeons, he skulked around
the bend in the road.

As soon as he was out of sight the woman emerged from the bushes,
with autumn leaves hiding her crown of hair. She hastened
a few rods toward the man watching her, then disappeared
through a vine-covered gateway into a wilderness of shrubbery,
beyond which the pigeons were cooing about their cotes.

As she closed the gate, she caught sight of Lloyd Fenneben,
leaning motionless against the gray bole of the elm tree.
But she was looking through a tangle of purple oak leaves
and twining bitter-sweet branches, and Fenneben was unconscious
of being discovered.

"A woman never could whistle," he smiled, as he listened,