It was a day in the beginning of June--the first real summer day;
and it was Sunday.

Stone Farm lay bathed in sunshine. The clear golden light penetrated
everywhere; and where it could not reach, dark colors trembled like
a hot, secret breath out into the light. Open windows and doors
looked like veiled eyes in the midst of the light, and where the
roof lay in shadow, it had the appearance of velvet.

It was quiet up in the big house to-day; it was a day of rest
from wrangling too.

The large yard was divided into two by a fence, the lower part
consisting in the main of a large, steaming midden, crossed by
planks in various directions, and at the top a few inverted
wheelbarrows. A couple of pigs lay half buried in the manure,
asleep, and a busy flock of hens were eagerly scattering the pile
of horse-dung from the last morning clearance. A large cock stood
in the middle of the flock, directing the work like a bailiff.

In the upper yard a flock of white pigeons were pecking corn off
the clean stone paving. Outside the open coach-house door, a groom
was examining the dog-cart, while inside stood another groom,
polishing the best harness.

The man at the dog-cart was in shirt-sleeves and newly-polished
top-boots; he had a youthful, elastic frame, which assumed graceful
attitudes as he worked. He wore his cap on the back of his head,
and whistled softly while he cleaned the wheels outside and in,
and sent stolen glances down to the wash-house, where, below the