Richard looked for George’s father, who appeared to be making acquaintance with the oxen, but had only turned away to hide the tears which he could not check. Richard wrung his hand in silence, and was not disposed for some time to go on with his tale or his questions. The first thing he wanted to know was where and how his friends were living. “You shall see presently,” said the captain. And, as soon as they turned round the foot of the hill, he did see a scene which astonished him. Part of the slope before him, rich with summer verdure, was inclosed with a rude fence, within which two full grown and three young antelopes were grazing. In another paddock were the grey mare and her foal. Across the sparkling stream at the bottom of the slope lay the trunk of a tree which served as a foot-bridge. On the other side at some little distance was the wood, in its richest beauty. Golden oranges shone among the dark green leaves, and vines were trained from one stem to another. On the outskirts of the wood were the dwellings, overshadowed by the oaks and chestnuts which formed their corner-posts. Plastered with clay, and rudely thatched, they might have been taken for the huts of savages but for their superior size, and for certain appearances round them which are not usual among uncivilized people. A handmill, made of stones, was placed under cover beside one of the dwellings; a sort of work-bench was set up under one of the trees, where lay the implements of various employments which had been going on when the arrival of the waggon had called every one from his work. The materials for straw-platting were scattered in the porch, and fishing-nets lay on the bank of the stream to dry. The whole was canopied over with the bluest of summer skies. Dark mountains rose behind. “We are just in time to show you our village before sunset,” said the captain, observing how the last level rays were glittering on the stream. “And is this our home?” said Richard, in quiet astonishment. “Is this the bare, ruined place I left five months ago? Who has helped you? Your own hands can never have done all this.” “Nature,—or He who made nature—has given us the means,” replied the captain; “and our own hands have done the rest. Well-directed labour is all we have had to depend on.” “Wonderful!” cried Richard. “The fields are tilled——” “By simple individual labour. There can be little combination in tillage on a small scale where different kinds of work must succeed each other, instead of being carried on at the same time.” “These houses and so many utensils——” “Are the produce of a division of labour as extensive as our resources would allow.” “There must have been wise direction as well as industrious toil.” “Yes,” said Mr. Stone, smiling, “we have been as fortunate in our unproductive as in our productive labourers.” “And have you had plenty for all?”