[Kane] "Fields upon fields of heavy headed yellow grain lay rotting ungathered upon the ground. No one was at hand to take in their rich harvest. As far as the eye could reach, they stretched away, they sleeping, too, in the hazy air of autumn." [Wilson]: "He started wonderingly up a street that led from the i waterside. . . . He was now passing empty workshops, hesitating door after door with ever mounting alarm. . . . . Growing bolder, he tried some of the doors and found them to yield. . . . . He passed an empty rode walk, the hemp strewn about, as if the workers had left hurriedly. He peered curiously at idle looms and deserted spinning wheels--deserted apparently but the instant before he came. . . He entered a carpenter's shop. On the bench was an unfinished door, a plane where it had been shoved half the length of its edge, the fresh pine shaving still curling over the side. . . . . He turned into a baker's shop and saw freshly chopped kindling piled against the oven, and dough actually on the kneading tray. In a tanner's vat he found fresh bark. In a blacksmith's shod he entered next the fire was out, but there was coal headed beside the forge, with the ladling pool and the crooked water horn, and on the anvil was a horseshoe that had cooled before it was finished." [Kane] "I walked through the solitary streets. . . . I went about unchecked. I went into empty workshops, ropewalks and smithies. [Kane] The spinner's wheel was idle; the carpenter had gone from his work bench and shavings, his unfinished sash and casing. [Kane] Fresh bark was in the tanner's vat, and the fresh chopped lightwood stood piled against the baker's oven. [Kane] The blacksmith shop was cold, but his coal heap, and lading pool, and crooked water horn were all there as if he had just gone off for a holiday." [Wilson] "He entered one of the gardens, clinking the gate-latch loudly after him, but no one challenged. He drew a drink from the Well with its loud rattling chain and clumsy water-bucket, but no one called. At the door of the house he pounded, and at last flung it open with all the noise he could make. Still his hungry ears fed on nothing but sinister echoes, and barren husks of his clamour. There was no curt voice of a man, no quick questioning tread of a woman. There were dead white ashes on the hearth, and the silence was grimly kept by the dumb household gods."