But Mr. Jeminy shook his head. "No," he said, "it is time to drive your mother's cow home from the fields. Some other day I will tell you about the great wars of old, fought for no other reason than glory and empire, which disappointed no one, except the vanquished. But there is no time now. Come; we will go for the cow together." Hand in hand they went down the road toward Mr. Crabbe's field, where Mrs. Wicket rented pasturage for her cow. The sun was sinking above the trees; and they heard, about them, in the fields, the silence of evening, the song of the crickets and cicadas. They found the cows gathered at the pasture bars, with sweet, misty breath, their bells clashing faintly as they moved. "Go 'long," cried Juliet, switching her little rod, to single out her own. And to the patter of hoofs and the tonkle of bells, they started home again. Mrs. Wicket, in the kitchen, watched them from her window, in the clear, fading light. "How good he is," she thought. And she turned, with a smile and a sigh, to set the table for Juliet's supper. Juliet was singing along the roadside. "A tisket," she sang, "a tasket, a green and yellow basket . . ." And she chanted, to a tune of her own, an old verse she had once heard Mr. Jeminy singing: When I was a young man, I said, bright and bold, I would be a great one, When I was old. When I was a young man, But that was long ago, I sang the merry old songs All men know. When I was a young man, When I was young and smart, I think I broke a mirror, Or a girl's heart. Mr. Jeminy walked in the middle of the road, under the dying sky, already lighted by the young moon, in the west. As he walked, the fresh air of evening, blowing on his face, with its sweet odors, the twilight notes of birds among the leaves, the faint acclaim of bells, and Juliet's childish singing, filled his heart with unaccustomed peace, moved him with gentle and deliberate joy. He remembered the voices he had heard in the little schoolhouse in the spring. "Jeminy, what are you doing?" Then Mr. Jeminy raised his head to the sky, in which the first stars of night were to be seen. "I am very busy now," he said, proudly. V RAIN From her dormer window, Anna Barly peered out at the wet, gray morning. The ground was sopping, the trees black with the night's drenching. In the orchard a sparrow sang an uncertain song; and she heard the comfortable drip, drip, drip from the eaves. It was damp and fresh at the window; the breeze, cold and fragrant after rain, made her shiver. She drew her wrapper closer about her throat, and sat staring out across the sodden lawn, with idle thoughts for company.