PART III

In the beginning of the first week in September Martin Pippin came
once more to Adversane, and he said to himself when he saw it:

"Now this is the prettiest hamlet I ever had the luck to light on in
my wanderings. And if chance or fortune will, I shall some day come
this way again."

While he was thinking these thoughts, his ears were assailed by
groans and sighs, so that he wet his finger and held it up to find
which way the wind blew on this burning day of blue and gold. But no
wind coming, he sought some other agency for these gusts, and
discovered it in a wheat-field where was a young fellow stooking
sheaves. A very young fellow he was, turned copper by the sun; and
as he stooked he heaved such sighs that for every shock he stooked
two tumbled at his feet. When Martin had seen this happen more than
once he called aloud to the harvester.

"Young master!" said Martin, "the mill that grinds your grain will
need no wind to its sails, and that's flat."

The young man looked up from his labors to reply.

"There are no mill-stones in all the world," said he, "strong enough
to grind the grain of my grief."

"Then I would save these gales till they may be put to more use,"
remarked Martin, "and if I remember rightly you wear a lady's ring