brook, laughing in the sunlight and tossing the spray
high in the air in a mad frolic. Across this swirling
line of silver lay a sparse meadow strewn with rock,
plotted with squares of last year's crops--potatoes,
string-beans, and cabbages, and now combed into
straight green lines of early buckwheat and turnips.
Beyond this a ragged pasture, fenced with blackened
stumps, from which came the tinkle of cow-bells, and
farther on the grim, silent forest--miles and miles of
forest seamed by a single road leading to Moose Hillock
and the great Stone Face.

Oliver slipped into his clothes; ran down the stairs
and out into the fresh morning air. As he walked
toward the well his eyes caught sight of Hank's
bucket tilted on one edge of the well-curb, over which
hung the big sweep, its lower end loaded with stone.
On the platform stood a wooden bench sloppy
with the drippings of the water-soaked pail. This
bench held a tin basin and half a bar of rosin soap.
Beside it was a single post sprouting hickory prongs,
on which were hung as many cleanly scoured milk-
pails glittering in the sun. On this post Hank had
nailed a three-cornered piece of looking-glass--Hank
had a sweetheart in the village below--a necessity
and useful luxury, he told Oliver afterward, "in
slickin' yerself up fer meals."

Once out in the sunshine Oliver, with the instinct
of the painter suddenly roused, looked about him.