noon
It was her picture gallery , her opera , her spectacle , and , being sensible , -- or perhaps , being merely happy , -- she made the most of it . When harvesting time came and the corn was cut , she had much entertainment in discovering what lay beyond . The town was east , and it chanced that she had never ridden west . So , when the rolling hills of this newly beholden land lifted themselves for her contemplation , and the harvest sun , all in an angry and sanguinary glow sank in the veiled horizon , and at noon a scarf of golden vapor wavered up and down along the earth line , it was as if a new world had been made for her . Sometimes , at the coming of a storm , a whip-lash of purple cloud , full of electric agility , snapped along the western horizon . `` Oh , you 'll see a lot of queer things on these here plains , '' her husband said when she spoke to him of these phenomena . `` I guess what you see is the wind . ''