The cherry-trees that bordered the Lane could feel their cherries ripening—the green slowly turning to yellow and the yellow blushing red. The houses dozed in the dusty gardens with their shutters over their eyes. "Do not disturb us!" they seemed to say. "We rest in the afternoon." And the starlings hid themselves in the chimneys with their heads under their wings. Over the Park lay a cloud of sunlight as thick and as golden as syrup. No wind stirred the heavy leaves. The flowers stood up, very still and shiny, as though they were made of metal. Down by the Lake the benches were empty. The people who usually sat there had gone home out of the heat. Neleus, the little marble statue, looked down at the placid water. No goldfish flirted a scarlettail. They were all sitting under the lily-leaves—using them as umbrellas. The Lawns spread out like a green carpet, motionless in the sunlight. Except for a single, rhythmic movement, you might have thought that the whole Park was only a painted picture.
