side, welcoming the end of the afternoon labor and the idea of
returning home. Not many minutes were required for the hasty
baling, and David soon rested a moment beside his hemp, ready to
lift it to his shoulders. But he felt disappointed. There lay the
remnant of the shock. He had worked hard to finish it before sunset
Would there not still be time?

The field occupied one of the swelling knolls of the landscape; his
brake was set this day on the very crown of a hill. As he asked
himself that question, he lifted his eyes and far away through the
twilight, lower down, he saw the flash of a candle already being
carried about in the kitchen. At the opposite end of the house the
glow of firelight fell on the window panes of his father's and
mother's room. Even while he observed this, it was intercepted: his
mother thus early was closing the shutters for the night.

Too late! He gave up the thought of finishing his shock,
recollecting other duties. But he remained in his attitude a few
moments; for the workman has a curious unconscious habit of taking
a final survey of the scene of his labor before quitting it. David
now glanced first up at the sky, with dubious forethought of to-
morrow's weather. The raindrops had ceased to fall, but he was too
good a countryman not to foresee unsettled conditions. The dog
standing before him and watching his face, uttered an uneasy whine
as he noted that question addressed to the clouds: at intervals
during the afternoon he had been asking his question also. Then
those live coals in the rind of the stump and the danger of sparks
blown to the hemp herds or brake, or fence farther away: David
walked over and stamped them out. As he returned, he fondled the
dog's head in his big, roughened hand.