He did not know what to do with it . The logical thing would have been to toss it away , but somehow he was disinclined to do this . Rosemary held out her hand for it . `` Will you let me have it ? '' she said . `` You made it so knackily . I never saw anyone make a birch cup so since my little brother used to make them long ago -- before he died . '' `` I learned how to make them when I was a boy , camping out one summer . An old hunter taught me , '' said Mr. Meredith . `` Let me carry your books , Miss West . '' Rosemary was startled into another fib and said oh , they were not heavy . But the minister took them from her with quite a masterful air and they walked away together . It was the first time Rosemary had stood by the valley spring without thinking of Martin Crawford . The mystic tryst had been broken . The little by-path wound around the marsh and then struck up the long wooded hill on the top of which Rosemary lived . Beyond , through the trees , they could see the moonlight shining across the level summer fields . But the little path was shadowy and narrow . Trees crowded over it , and trees are never quite as friendly to human beings after nightfall as they are in daylight . They wrap themselves away from us . They whisper and plot furtively .
If they reach out a XXXXX to us it has a hostile , tentative touch .
boy hand hunter minister moonlight summer time top trees wound