The meadow grass had grown tall and heavy, and was touched with gold and russet where the afternoon sunlight slanted across it.  The birds flew up at his approach and scattered in darts and circles.  To-day when he reached the fence he didn’t turn aside toward the road, but climbed over and found an open space on the side of the little hill under the trees, and threw himself down there to smoke his pipe and stare back across the meadow.  It was very still in the woods, with only the sleepy chirp of a bird or rustling of a squirrel to be heard, but from somewhere in the hot glare of the afternoon came the rasping of the first locust.

Zephania served supper that evening with chastened mien, and for once she neglected to sing.

“You do think you’ll come back, don’t you, Mr. Herrick?” she asked.

“Why, yes, Zephania, I expect to.  Do you want me to?”

“Oh, yes, sir!  We all want you to.  Father says if there was more gentlemen like you here, Eden Village would perk right up.  And Zenas says you and he haven’t done nearly all the fishing you were going to.”

“No, I suppose not.  Tell him we’ll try again next summer.  I’m leaving my tackle here, tell him, so as I will be sure to come back.”

“Yes, sir.”  Zephania hesitated, half-way to the door.  Finally, “It’s been awful nice for me, Mr. Herrick,” she said.  “I’ve had just the best summer I ever did have.”

“Why, you’ve had a lot of hard work,” said Wade.  “Is that what you call nice?”

“Yes, sir, but it ain’t been very hard.  I like to work.  It seems as though the harder I work the happier I am, Mr. Herrick.”

“Really?  Well, now, I reckon that’s the way with me, Zephania, come to think about it.  I suppose keeping busy at something you like doing comes just as near to spelling happiness as anything can, eh?”

“Yes sir.”

“By the way, Zephania, do you wear a hat?”

“Why, yes, sir, of course!”

“Oh!  Well, I didn’t know; I never saw you with one on.  How would you like me to send you a hatpin, then, with a nice little gold nugget for a head?”

“I’d love it!  But—­but what is a nugget, Mr. Herrick?”

“Oh, a little—­a little lump.”

“Do you mean real gold?” asked Zephania, awedly.

“Yes, real gold, virgin gold, just as it comes out of the ground, you know.”

“Wouldn’t it be worth a good deal, though?” asked Zephania, doubtfully.

“Oh, a few dollars; ten or fifteen.  Why?”

“I’d almost be afraid of losing it, Mr. Herrick.  Would you please see that it wasn’t a very big nug—­nug—­”

“Nugget’?  All right,” he laughed.  “I’ll see that it’s only about as big as your thumbnail.”

“Thank you, sir; I’d think a great deal of it.  Will you have some more tea?”

“No, no more tea, Zephania.  No more anything.  You may take the things out.”

Later in the evening came Doctor Crimmins, very regretful and full of arguments in favor of postponing action.  When twilight passed they went out onto the porch with their pipes and glasses.  They talked as friends talk on the eve of parting, often of trivial things, with long pauses between.  The moon came up over the tree tops, round and full, and flooded the garden with silver.