The sun was nearing the western horizon and a deep apricot glow
warmed the mown field and the undulating foliage in the far
distance. The men began to scatter here and there, putting aside
their long wooden rakes, and two of them went off to bring Roger,
the cart-horse, from his shed.

"Uncle Hugo!"

The old man, who still sat impassively on the beer-barrel, looked
up.

"Ay! What is it?"

"Are you coming along with us?"

Uncle Hugo shook his head despondently.

"Why not? It's the last load this year!"

"Ay!" He lifted his straw hat and waved it in a kind of farewell
salute towards the waggon, repeating mechanically: "The last load!
The very last!"

Then there came a cessation of movement everywhere for the moment.
It was a kind of breathing pause in Nature's everlasting chorus,--
a sudden rest, as it seemed, in the very spaces of the air. The
young man threw himself down on the hay-load so that he faced the
girl, who sat quiet, caressing the dove she held. He was
undeniably good-looking, with an open nobility of feature which is