hill through the town road the valley had a quiet welcome for me, and
the trees I know best, and the pleasant fields of corn and tobacco, and
the meadows ripe with hay. I know of nothing more comforting to the
questioning spirit than the sight of distant hills....

I found that Bill had begun the hay cutting. I saw him in the lower
field as I came by in the road. There he was, stationed high on the
load, and John, the Pole, was pitching on. When he saw me he lifted one
arm high in the air and waved his hand--and I in return gave him the
sign of the Free Fields.

"Harriet," I said, "it seems to me I was never so glad before to get
home."

"It's what you always say," she remarked placidly.

"This time it's true!" And I put the pamphlets I had accumulated in the
city eddies upon the pile of documents which I fully intend to read but
rarely get to.

The heavenly comfort of an old shirt! The joy of an old hat!

As I walked down quickly into the field with my pitchfork on my shoulder
to help Bill with the hay, I was startled to see, hanging upon a peach
tree at the corner of the orchard, a complete suit of black clothes.
Near it, with the arms waving gently in the breeze, was a white shirt
and a black tie, and at the foot of the tree a respectable black hat. It
was as though the peach tree had suddenly, on that bright day, gone into
mourning.