sagreeable cries.
It is evening; the men have returned from the fields; the oxen are
loosed from their heavy wagons loaded with corn; the sheep come with
tinkling bells from the meadow; the grunting swine hurry through the
open gate each to his own trough; the cocks quarrel together on the
nut-trees where they went to roost at sunset; in the distance is heard
the sound of the evening bell; and from still farther away comes the
sound of the village maidens going to the fountain. The men look after
the cattle, one brings a great bundle of fresh-mown grass, and another
carries in a large pail of fresh milk, fragrant and foaming. From the
kitchen comes the gleam of a blazing fire, over which a maiden with
round red cheeks is holding a great pan that gives out the fragrance
of food, soon to be placed on the heavy green earthenware. The farm
hands sit round the mill-stone table, eating heartily, while the
patient house-dogs watch them with thoughtful attention. Then the
dishes are cleared away and the ears of corn are taken from the wagon
and put under cover. The peasant maidens of the neighborhood gather
for the husking; the more timid are frightened for their lives by the
mischievous lads who hollow out ripe pumpkins, cut eyes and mouth and
set a burning light inside to use as a lantern. The more clever of the
lads, seated on upturned baskets, weave long garlands of the corn
husks; and over their quiet work ring out jolly songs, and fairy tales
are told of golden-haired princesses and waifs. Here and there a game
is played, not without kisses proclaimed to all the world with loud
shrieks. The children make merry if they chance to find a red ear in
the corn. And so they sit and sing and tell stories and laugh over
trifles until the heaps of corn are all gone. Then come the long
farewells; down the length of the street they sing on their way home,
partly in joyousness of spirit and partly to keep up their courage.
Each one goes to his house, locks the door and puts out the fire; the
shepherd-dogs throughout the village answer one another, the moon
rises and the night watchman begins to call off the hours in measured
rhythm, while the other villagers sleep unmindful of the golden
proverbs of his song.

Only in one window of the manor house is there still a light: there
only they have not yet gone to rest. The watchers are an old
maidservant, grown grey in service, and a younger one. The old woman
is reading laboriously someth