“I should think farmer’s work would be pleasant enough,” Rose remarked, as they stood leaning over the fence.

“It looks pretty,” said Elizabeth.  “But I shouldn’t like to pull corn from morning to night; and I don’t believe you would.”

“O, but men have to work, you know,” said Miss Cadwallader.

Winifred came back to them and they went on their way, but Elizabeth would not let her take the basket again.  It was a pretty way; past the spring where Sam Doolittle had pushed Winthrop in and Rufus had avenged him; and then up the rather steep woody road that led to the plain of the tableland.  The trees stood thick, but the ascent was so rapid that they could only in places hinder the view; and as the travellers went up, the river spread itself out more broad, and Shahweetah lay below them, its boundaries traced out as on a map.  A more commanding view of the opposite shore, a new sight of the southern mountains, a deeper draught from nature’s free cup, they gained as they went up higher and higher.  Elizabeth had seen it often before; she looked and drank in silence; though to-day September was peeping between the hills and shaking his sunny hair in the vallies; —­ not crowned like the receding summer with insupportable brilliants.

“I am sorry papa is coming so soon!” said Elizabeth, after she had stood awhile near the top, looking.

“Why I thought you wanted to go home,” said her cousin.

“So I do; —­ but I don’t want to go away from here.”

“What do you want to stay for?”

“It is so lovely! —­”

“What is so lovely?” asked Miss Cadwallader with a tone of mischief.

Elizabeth turned away and began to walk on, an expression of great disgust upon her face.

“I wish I was blessed with a companion who had three grains of wit!” she said.

Miss Cadwallader’s light cloud of ill-humour, it seldom looked more, came on at this; and she pouted till they reached the fence of the ploughed field where the young men were at work.  Here Elizabeth gave up her basket to Winifred; and creeping through the bars they all made for the nearest plough.  It happened to be Winthrop’s.

“What’s the matter?” said he as they came up.  “Am I wanted for guard or for oarsman?”

“Neither —­ for nothing,” said Elizabeth.  “Go on, won’t you?  I want to see what you are doing.”

“Ploughing?” said he.  “Have you never seen it?”

He went on and they walked beside him; Winifred laughing, while the others watched, at least Elizabeth did minutely, the process of the share in turning up the soil.

“Is it hard work?” she asked.

“No, not here; not when the business is understood.”

“Like rowing, I suppose there is a sleight in it?”

“A good deal so.”

“What has been growing here?”

“Corn.”

“And now when you get to the fence you must just turn about and make another ridge close along by this one?”