. He was in the
thirteenth book:

[Greek: os d hot aner dorpoio lilaietai, o te pauemar neion an helketon
boe oinope pekton arotron]

"As when a man longeth for supper, for whom, the livelong day, two
wine-coloured oxen have dragged the fitted plough through the fallow,
and joyful to such an one is the going down of the sun that sends him to
his meal, for his knees tremble as he goes--so welcome to Odysseus was
the setting of the sun": ...

He lost himself in familiar joy--the joy of the Greek itself, of the
images of the Greek life. He walked with the Greek ploughman, he smelt
the Greek earth, his thoughts caressed the dark oxen under the yoke.
These for him had savour and delight; the wide Canadian fields had none.

Philip Gaddesden meanwhile could not be induced to leave the car. While
the others were going through the splendid stables and cowsheds, kept
like a queen's parlour, he and the pretty girl were playing at
bob-cherry in the saloon, to the scandal of Yerkes, who, with the honour
of the car and the C.P.R. and Canada itself on his shoulders, could not
bear that any of his charges should shuffle out of the main item in the
official programme.

But Elizabeth, as before, saw everything transfigured; the splendid
Shire horses; the famous bull, progenitor of a coming race; the sheds
full of glistening cows and mottled calves. These smooth, sleek
creatures, housed there for the profit of Canada and her farm life,
seemed to Elizabeth no less poetic than the cattle of Helios to Delaine.
She loved the horses, and the patient, sweet-breathed kine; she found
even a sympathetic mind for the pigs.

Presently when her host, the owner, left her to explain some of his
experiments to the rest of the party, she fell to Anderson alone. And as
she strolled at his side, Anderson found the June afternoon pass with
extraordinary rapidity. Yet he was not really as forthcoming or as frank
as he had been the day before. The more he liked his companion, the more
he was conscious of differences between them which his pride
exaggerated. He himself had never crossed the Atlantic; but he
understood that she and her people were "swells"--well-born in the
English sense, and rich. Secretly he credited them with those defects of
English society of which the New World talks--its vulgar standards and
prejudices. There was not a sign of them certainly in Lady Merton's
conversation. But it is easy to be gracious in a new country; and the
br