How Pink Peony Sent Spuds, the
evening shadows. And she told him about the summer moon in the tree-tops, the lisp of the leaves, and the shine of the moon trying to tell something to the lisp of the leaves.
The old man leaned back, fumbled the keys of his accordion, and said it loosened up things he remembered far back.
"On an evening like this, every tree has a moon all of its own for itself—if you climb up in a thousand trees this evening you can pick a thousand moons," the old man murmured. "You remind me to-night about secrets swimming deep in me."
And after hesitating a little—and thinking a little—and then hesitating some more—the old man started and told this story:
There was a girl I used to know, one time, named Pink Peony. She was a girl with cheeks and lips the peonies talked about.
When she passed a bush of peonies, some of
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