Wicket lived with her daughter. Seeing
Mrs. Wicket in the garden, he stopped to wave his hand. Under her
bonnet, the young woman looked up at him, her plain, thin face flushed
with her efforts in the garden patch. "I've never seen such weeds,"
she cried. "You'd think . . . I don't know what you'd think. They
grow and grow . . ."

Mr. Jeminy went up the hill toward his house, carrying the box of
matches. As he walked, the little white butterflies, which danced
above the road, kept him company; and all about him, in the meadows,
among the daisies, the beetles, wasps, bees, and crickets, with fifes,
flutes, drums, and triangles, were singing joyously together the
Canticle of the Sun:

"Praised be the Lord God with all his creatures, but especially our
brother, the sun . . . fair he is, and shines, with a very great
splendor . . .

"Praised be the Lord for our sister, the moon, and for the stars, which
he has set clear and lovely in heaven.

". . . (and) for our brother, the wind, and for air and cloud, calm and
all weather . . .

". . . (and) for our mother, the earth, which does sustain us and keep
us . . .

"Praised be the Lord for all those who pardon one another . . . and who
endure weakness and tribulation; blessed are they who peaceably shall
endure . . ."

Slowly, to the tonkle of herds in pasture, the crowing of cocks, and
the thin, clear clang of the smithy, the full sun sank in the west.
For a time all was quiet, as night, the shadow of the earth, crept
between man and God.

After supper Thomas Frye, in his father's wagon, went to call on Anna
Barly.

From her porch where she sat hidden by vines which gave forth an odor
sweeter than honey, the night was visible, pale and full of shadows.
To the boy beside her, timid and ardent, the silence of her parents
seemed, like the night, to be full of opinions.

"Well . . . shall we go for a ride?"

Anna called in to her mother, "I'm going for a ride with Tom."

"Don't be late," said her mother.

The two went down the path, and climbed into the buggy; soon the yellow
lantern, swung between its wheels, rolled like a star down the road to
Milford.

"Why so quiet, Tom?"

"Am I, Ann?"

"Angry?"

"Just thinking . . . so to say."

"Oh." And she began to hum under her breath.

"I was just thinking," he said again.

Then, solemnly, he added, "about things."

"About you and me," he wound up finally.

When she offered him a penny for his tho