Leon nodded, pleased and proprietary. “It was here when the house was built, and long before. There were a lot of them. Some were in the way and had to be cut down. This place was known as Magnolia Garden before we owned it, although they were not a garden, they grew wild. My grandfather built the house in 1783.”

“Did he?” Sarah said with intense interest. “That means it is—oh, nearly fifty years old. Think of it!”

“Yes,” Leon agreed, although he did not care about its age except as it appeared to please his guest.

They paused to watch a hummingbird suspended in a whir of wings, his beak in a blossom. “Do they never rest?” she asked.

“They mustn’t, or they die,” he said.

They walked on, made thoughtful and a little sad by the hummingbird. But when they came to the orchard and strolled in and out among the trees, their hearts and talk grew lighter, and they laughed, and although Sarah protested that he must leave them alone until they were fully ripened, Leon squeezed peach after peach until he found one whose sides gave enough for him to pull it for her.

She took it from his hand and smelled it and held it against her cheek. “It is still warm from the day.” Then, “Look!” she exclaimed, pointing toward a child who seemed to bend double as he ran helter-skelter in and out the patterned lines of trees. “Did we frighten him, do you think?”

Leon shrugged.

“Is it a child you know?”

“No,” Leon said, although he had recognized Roman.

“Surely you must know, at least to recognize, everyone on the place,” she said. “Even the children.”

“It’s getting dark. Look.” He pointed. “A star.” He looked about the sky. “Yes, it is the first. Let us make a wish on it.”

She nodded.

They stared intently at the star glittering sharp against the blue sky that was darkening to night.

“What did you wish?” he said when she relaxed her expression.

“Too many things. I should have concentrated my wishing all to one goal.”

“I wished—”

“Don’t tell. It’s bad luck, they say.”

They turned to walk back.

Before they reached the house they heard music from the group of Negroes who had turned out to serenade the visitors. They lingered by the blossoming wisteria vines at the dark end of the porch until a song ended, and then joined the three ladies, who had stopped rocking and were listening appreciatively. At the conclusion of the song the ladies applauded, and Felix, who had stood behind the little band, and had indeed been the instigator of their performance, stepped forward and joined the ladies in their applause.

“Now something to dance to!” Felix sang the words.