All things were confused in her mind, like the sounds that were in the wind; Reddin's face, distorted with rage, as he advanced on Sally with his arm raised; the howling of the baby; the sound of her bees burning--going off like apple-pips. A scene came back to her from the week before--it seemed years ago. They had gone into the harvest-field after a hot, yellow day haunted by the sound of cutting. Only a small square of orange wheat was left; the rest of the field lay in the pale disorder of destruction. The two great horses stood at one corner, darkly shining in the level light. The men who had been tying sheaves stood about, some women and children were coming over the stubble, and several dogs lay in the shadow. They all seemed to be waiting. They were, in fact, waiting for Reddin, who was always present at the dramatic finish of a field. Hazel knew what drama was to be enacted; knew what the knobbled sticks were for; knew who crouched in the tall, kindly wheat, palpitant, unaware that escape was impossible. 'Plenty o' conies, sir!' called one of the men, whose face was a good deal more brutal than that of his mongrel dog. Hazel knew that the small square must be packed with rabbits, stark-eyed and still as death, who had, with a fated foolishness, drawn in from the outer portions of the field all day as the reaper went round. 'Jack,' she said, 'I hanna asked for a present ever.' 'No. You didn't want the bracelets, you silly girl.' 'I want one now.' 'You do, do you?' 'Ah! If you'll give it me, Jack, I'll do aught you want. What'd you like best in the 'orld?' He considered. He was feeling very fit and almost too much alive. 'Hunter's Spinney over again--up to when we got so gloomy.' Hazel never wanted to think of that night, nor see the Spinney again. There had been many times since, in the grey-tinted room, that had been nearly as bad. But for evoking a shuddering, startled horror in her mind, nothing came up to that Sunday night. The reaper was moving again. Soon the rabbits would begin to bolt. 'I'll do ought and go anywhere if you'll do this as I want, Jack.' 'Well?' 'Call 'em off! Leave the last bit till morning. Let 'em creep away in the dark and keep living a bit longer!' 'What nonsense!' 'Call 'em off, Jack! You can. You'm maister!' 'No.' She sobbed. 'I be going, then.' 'No. You're to stay. You'll have to be cured of this damned silliness, and learn to be sensible.' While she struggled to wrench herself free, two rabbits bolted, and hell broke loose. One would not have thought that the great calm evening under its stooping sky, the peaceful, omniscient trees, the grave, contented colours, could have tolerated such hideousness. The women and children shrieked with the best, and Hazel stood alone--the single representative, in a callous world, of God. Or was the world His representative, and she something alien, a dissentient voice to be silenced?