noon
Gifford stood in the sunshine , with the roses and the white phlox , and looked after her retreating figure . But in spite of his heartache , he would not leave the flowers to die , so he went hunting about for something to put them in , and finding the India china punch-bowl , with its soft blues and greens of enamel , and twists of roses and butterflies over groups of tiny mandarins , he brought it out , and laid his flowers in it , a little clumsily , perhaps , and heedless that some of the stems stuck out ; but as he forgot the water , this did not so much matter . Then he carried it into the hall , and put it down on the table under the square window , and plodded home alone . The noon sunshine poured hot and bright through the little panes of glass , and when Lois , later in the day , found the withered , drooping roses and the hanging heads of the white phlox , she felt they were only in keeping with all the rest of life . Even the sparkling day had darkened , and Dr. Howe 's prophecy of rain had been fulfilled . It grew quite chilly towards dusk , which gave Dr. Howe an excuse for putting a match to the dusty pile of logs in the library fireplace . He liked the snap and glow of the flames , and did not object to the mild , soft heat ; so he sat there long after Lois had gone wearily up-stairs to bed , and the rectory was full of drowsy silence .