noon
Saturday afternoon was the perfect pattern of an autumn afternoon . A creamy haze softened the sharp outline of the mountains , and lay cloudlike on the fields . The sunlight fell through it like sifted gold , the sky hung motionless and blue -- that glowless , deepening blue that always made Gypsy feel , she said , `` as if she must drink it right up '' -- and away over miles of field and mountain slope the maples crimsoned and flamed . Gypsy came home at noon with her hat hanging down her neck , her cheeks on fire , and panting like the old lady who died for want of breath ; rushing up the steps , tearing open the door , and slamming into the parlor . `` Look here ! -- everybody -- where are you ? What do you think ?