house, the road led gently along round the edge of a little
bay, of which the promontory formed the northern horn. Just
before reaching the head of the bay, where the road made a
sharp turn and began to ascend to the tableland, it passed
what was called the _bend meadow_.

It was a very lovely morning of early Spring, one of those
days when nature seems to have hushed herself to watch the
buds she has set a swelling. Promising to be warm, though a
little freshness from the night still lingered in the air.
Everywhere on the hills the soft colours of the young Spring-
time were starting out, that delicate livery which is so soon
worn. They were more soft to-day under a slight sultry
haziness of the atmosphere -- a luxurious veil that Spring had
coyly thrown over her face; she was always a shy damsel. It
soothed the light, it bewitched the distance, it lay upon the
water like a foil to its brightness, it lay upon the mind with
a subtle charm winning it to rest and enjoy. It etherealized
Earth till it was no place to work in. But there went the
oxen, and the ploughmen.

The one as silently as the other; till the bay was left behind
and they came to the point where the road began to go up to
the tableland. Just under the hill here was a spring of
delicious water, always flowing; and filling a little walled-
up basin.

Will, or Will Rufus, as his father had long ago called him,
had passed on and begun to mount the hill. Winthrop stopped
his oxen till he should fill a large stone jug for the day.