Autumn

ve the village, he could see the hills across the valley, misted in the sun. Above him stretched the shining sky, thronged with its winds, the low clouds of early autumn trailing their shadows acr

him, and flew away with dissatisfied cries. "Come," he said to them, "the world does not belong to you. I believe you have never read the works of Epictetus, who says, 'true education lies in learnin

the grace of God within him, and found even in the humblest sparrow

last all winter for the two of us. That's riches, J

Mr. Jeminy, bending over, "ar

omkins, "I'll borrow a

ant corn here on the hi

husking, Jeminy; you an

rst out laughing, in h

Stove lost themselves in the woods. And Elsie Cobbler burned her fingers. How she cried and carried on; Anna came r

"I remember," he said. "I remember more than you do, Jeminy. I can look back to the first husking bee I ever was at. That w

ays folks did their own work. Then there was time for everything. But the days are

y a roof, or mend a thresher, it was all the same to him. What d

s it should be, William. She believes that she has suffered. And if she

any," said Mr. Tomkins;

urn home. As he followed Mr. Tomkins down the hill, he saw the tops of the clouds lighted by the descending sun, and

among the ferns, for a cup of cold, clear water. Ho

stic god, who watched his house, and protected his flocks. They were the best of friends; each w

ou. Come along now; I've plenty still to do before supper. The widow Wicke

htfully; "you need help. I must see what I can do."

s. Grumble asked him where he was going, he replied, "I m

ed off to mend Mrs. Wicket's gate. On the way he stopped to gather an armful of goldenro

m with alarm. "I've been up with Juliet," she said. "The child has a touch of croup. It's noth

ny; "I am sure Mrs. Grumble would

she did not answer thi

in his heart

d for you." Mrs. Wicket stood watching him with a gentle smile. "You're very kind," she said. "It's ver

said Mr

s like I do here. Not ever. Because I've had trouble, Mr. Jeminy, and kno

Wicket. Sorrow and poverty are close to our hearts.

added, "to bear sorrow w

. Wicket. "To my way of thinking, sorrow comes so full of t

eous spirit. But wherever trouble is found, there is also to be found envy, pride, and vanity. It is good t

st, as though to say,

. but the heart's liable to

. Jeminy firmly. "No . . . you

her face was a look of pity for Mr. Jeminy, because she had heard that he wa

t easy to be poor. Yet to be poor, to be sad, and to be brave, is indeed the best of life. He who wants little for himself, is a happy man. If he is wise, he will pity those who have more

t's a blessing to feel pity. It makes you strong

ft to himself, Mr. Jeminy regarded the gate-post with a thoug

hered in stacks, shone in the moonlight like little hills of snow; and in the shadows the cric

singing the harvest in. Their voices rolled across the fields in lovely glees, rose in the old, familiar songs, broke

to veil in shadow the forms of her companions-Elsie Cobbler with her round, soft elbow over Brandon Adam's face, Susie Ploughman murmuring to Alec Stove . . . She was chilly

d night. Cle

d Anna, "I

, the hoarse, familiar sounds, the shining, silent fields, and the pale, lofty sky, filled her with longing and regret. She c

y're singing Love

er body, close to his. Then silence seized upon Thomas Frye; he grew sad without knowing why. The figures at his side, curled in the hay, seemed to him ghostly as a dream. Poor

like this till

ld y

like this fore

gentle movement of the wagon, now fast, n

what I

have gone on forever, dreaming in the moonlight. Noel . . . Thomas . . . what was the difference? "

d to say: "You belong to me, and I belong to you." And at that moment, with all h

s, Tom

woods, pale green and silver in the moonlight; and beyond, far off and faint, rose Barly Hill, with Barly's l

Anna, "there

his own silence, which being all too full of things to say was like to turn him into sugar with pure sorrow

ight, very first star I see to-nig

of stars,"

now what

o

't y

wardly, then, she drew him down,

" she murmured.

not until Anna had told him her wi

he wish

only whisper

imself up to reflection. He thought: "The little insects which run about my garden paths at home, and eat what I had intended for myself, are not more lonely than I am. For here, within the walls of my mind, there is only myself. And you, Anna Barly, you cannot give

miny's lap. There, while the lamplight danced across the walls, drowsy with sleep, she en

e upon a time there was

sed, and the tired head drooped lower and lower; while the autumn moon rose up above t

rved by the others, they had stolen away before the wagon reached Milford. Now they were lying i