mother held her body with both hands to prevent its shaking, Ivo tied his
red handkerchief over his silk cap and they started running.

"It was main hot for the time of year."

"And the flowers smelt too strong and the thrush sang so loud."

It went on raining: a wholesome, cleansing downpour, a slow descent in
slanting lines that glittered in the moonlight, bringing health to the
earth. The air was fragrant with the wet grass and the white flowers: it
was like a rich garden. At home, everything was put away, the table
cleared and wiped; the lamp was alight and all the doors open. The boys
were in bed. Horieneke had read evening prayers to them and then hurried
to her little room, to be alone; and there she had lain thinking of all
that had happened during that long day: her jaws ached from the constant
smiling; and she felt dead-tired and sad.

Father took off his wet blouse and mother stirred up the fire: they would
have one more cup of coffee, with a drop of something, and then go to
bed. Ivo lit his pipe and stretched out his legs to dry beside the stove.

They drank their coffee and listened to the steady breathing of the boys
and the dripping of the gutters on the cobbles outside. Father made a
remark or two about uncle and aunt and about their village, but got only
half-answers from his wife. Then, all of a sudden, he asked:

"What did the farmer come and say to you?"

Frazie sighed: