Easter dropped to her scarred and coral-colored knees. They saw the dirt. “Get down if you want to play me mumblety-peg,” was all she said, “and watch out for your hands and faces.”

They huddled down on the piney sand. The vivid, hurrying ants were everywhere. To the squinted eye they looked like angry, orange ponies as they rode the pine needles. There was Geneva, skirting behind a tree, but she never came close or tried to get in the game. She pretended to be catching doodlebugs. The knife leaped and quivered in the sandy arena smoothed by Easter’s hand.

“I may not know how to play, but I bet I win,” Jinny Love said.

Easter’s eyes, lifting up, were neither brown nor green nor cat; they had something of metal, flat ancient metal, so that you could not see into them. Nina’s grandfather had possessed a box of coins from Greece and Rome. Easter’s eyes could have come from Greece or Rome that day. Jinny Love stopped short of apprehending this, and only took care to watch herself when Easter pitched the knife. The color in Easter’s eyes could have been found somewhere, away—away, under lost leaves—strange as the painted color of the ants. Instead of round black holes in the center of her eyes, there might have been women’s heads, ancient.

Easter, who had played so often, won. She nodded and accepted Jinny Love’s barrette and from Nina a blue jay feather which she transferred to her own ear.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you cheated, and don’t know what you had to lose if you lost,” said Jinny Love thoughtfully but with an admiration almost fantastic in her.

Victory with a remark attached did not crush Easter at all, or she scarcely listened. Her indifference made Nina fall back and listen to the spring running with an endless sound and see how the July light like purple and yellow birds kept flickering under the trees when the wind blew. Easter turned her head and the new feather on her head shone changeably. A black funnel of bees passed through the air, throwing a funneled shadow, like a visitor from nowhere, another planet.

“We have to play again to see whose the drinking cup will be,” Easter said, swaying forward on her knees.

Nina jumped to her feet and did a cartwheel. Against the spinning green and blue her heart pounded as heavily as she touched lightly.

“You ruined the game,” Jinny Love informed Easter. “You don’t know Nina.” She gathered up her cards. “You’d think it was made of fourteen-carat gold, and didn’t come out of the pocket of an old suitcase, that cup.”

“I’m sorry,” said Nina sincerely.

As the three were winding around the lake, a bird flying above the opposite shore kept uttering a cry and then diving deep, plunging into the trees there, and soaring to cry again.