The bowl of squash she returned to the ice box. "I'll eat it myself,
to-morrow," she thought.

"Supper will be a little late," she said to Mr. Jeminy, "because the
stove won't draw in wet weather."




VI

HARVEST

Mr. Jeminy, clad in a pair of brown, earthy overalls, a blue, cotton
shirt, and a straw hat, full of holes, was helping Mr. Tomkins dig
potatoes, up on Barly Hill. From the field on the slopes above 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 across the woods. All
was peace; he saw September's yellow fields, and felt, on his face, the
cool fall wind, with its smoke of burning leaves, mingled with the odor
of spaded earth, and fresh manure.

With every toss of his fork he covered with earth the little piles of
straw and ordure which Mr. Tomkins had spread on the ground. As he
advanced in this manner, small flocks of sparrows rose before 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 learning to distinguish
what is ours, from what does not belong to us.' However, you have a