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And so one night as little Joey is ready to go to bed, he sits ahwile on the front porch of the house-the whole gang has gone home to bed-and as he sits there, he notes the subtle coolness in the air, the premonition of something different, the approach of school days again. Above him is a starwealthy sky, Augustcool and calm, full of misty light and a sting of coolness. Everything smells old and dusty and weary from the long Summer; and he realizes that the games he has been playing all Summer with the gang have halso grown old and dusty. He goes to bed with a vague feeling of melencholy and loss-and suddenly, in the middle of the night, he awakes with a start, with joyous terror.
The wind is rattling his window and it begins to rain. He gets another blanket for his bed. He lies there in bed thinking, beneath the quilt, full of new wild thoughts. Autumm! Autumm! Why is he filled with such a huge excitment, such glee and jubilance? What is this that comes now?
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