“Only a basket, mamma,” —­ came from the pantry.

His mother got up from table, and basket in hand followed him, to where he was busy with a big knife in the midst of her stores.  Slices of bread were in course of buttering, and lay in ominous number piled up on the yellow shelf.  Hard by stood a bowl of cold boiled potatoes.  He was at work with dexterity as neat-handed and as quick as a woman’s.

“There’s no pork there, Governor,” his mother whispered as he stooped to the cupboard, —­ “your father made an end of that last night; —­ but see —­ here —­”

And from another quarter she brought out a pie.  Being made of dried apples, it was not too juicy to cut; and being cut into huge pieces they were stowed into the basket, lapping over each other, till little room was left; and cheese and gingerbread went in to fill that.  And then as her hands pressed the lid down and his hands took the basket, the eyes met, and a quick little smile of great brilliancy, that entirely broke up the former calm lines of his face, answered her; for he said nothing.  And the mother’s “Now go!” —­ was spoken as if she had enough of him left at home to keep her heart warm for the rest of the day.

The two ploughmen set forth with their teams.  Or ploughboys rather; for the younger of them as yet had seen not sixteen years.  His brother must have been several in advance of him.

The farmhouse was placed on a little woody and rocky promontory jutting out into a broad river from the east shore.  Above it, on the higher grounds of the shore, the main body of the farm lay, where a rich tableland sloped back to a mountainous ridge that framed it in, about half a mile from the water.  Cultivation had stretched its hands near to the top of this ridge and driven back the old forest, that yet stood and looked over from the other side.  One or two fields were but newly cleared, as the black stumps witnessed.  Many another told of good farming, and of a substantial reward for the farmer; at what cost obtained they did not tell.

Towards one of these upland fields, half made ready for a crop of spring grain, the boys took their way.  On first leaving the house, the road led gently along round the edge of a little bay, of which the promontory formed the northern horn.  Just before reaching the head of the bay, where the road made a sharp turn and began to ascend to the tableland, it passed what was called the bend meadow.

It was a very lovely morning of early Spring, one of those days when nature seems to have hushed herself to watch the buds she has set a swelling.  Promising to be warm, though a little freshness from the night still lingered in the air.  Everywhere on the hills the soft colours of the young Spring-time were starting out, that delicate livery which is so soon worn.  They were more soft to-day under a slight sultry haziness of the atmosphere —­ a luxurious veil that Spring had coyly thrown over her face; she was always a shy damsel.  It soothed the light, it bewitched the distance, it lay upon the water like a foil to its brightness, it lay upon the mind with a subtle charm winning it to rest and enjoy.  It etherealized Earth till it was no place to work in.  But there went the oxen, and the ploughmen.