A humming came from one end of the cornfield, audible as they passed, and there myriads of bees were working over the corn tassels, taking the pollen of the corn. A walnut tree glistened in the light. The edges of the leaves made crystals on the green bank of the tree, sharp facets of brightness on green leaves. Theodosia did not know the name of this hard, brilliant tree, but she knew some response to the scintillating surfaces and lined edges where the sun met the leaves. “This-here, it’s a walnut tree. A fine old walnut,” he said. “And what’s this, Ladybug?” “That’s the queen-anne’s-lace-handkerchief,” he said when she could not reply. The name was itself a bright altar-cloth for some shrine in a valley, and Theodosia grew in all ways to comprehend the beauty of the weed, but insufficiency grew likewise, moving outward beyond every comprehended meaning and pleasure. Some buzzards were soaring over the stream, lying out on the air with long wings, searching the water-holes for fowls that might come there to drink. They seemed rather to rest on the air and to turn about for the mere happiness of turning. Near the creek a pool of water, fed by some spring, had been banked about with earth to make a pond, the place where the mules drank when the creek was low and the water-holes foul. Four light sorrel horses stood by the fence, one of them a large glossy mare with a half-grown mule colt beside her, the colt sorrel and brilliant like the mother. It seemed very foolish in its fright, edging close to its mother’s side, afraid even of little Annie when she ran near to gather the plush, aster-like flowers that grew near the creek. In the field the laborers were bending over the tobacco plants, breaking out the top of each and trimming away undesired growth. They lifted their backs from the labor to watch the passing and to greet the owner of the field. At the barn beyond the field Tom left the girls in the shade of the doorway while he looked at the walls of the building, or he climbed high into the upper structure, talking happily to himself as he mounted. It was a good barn, he said. It would do. A little work on the roof and a few nails to tighten the loose scantlings. Then they went back along the tobacco field and passed the shy sorrel colt again. “Oh, it’s a good morning,” he said. “I someways like a day just like this, just enough heat so’s you know it’s summer. Cool breezes shiften in and out of the thicket and a mockbird over towards the hill a-singen once in a little while. A prime good day. I don’t know why it is but seems like I always liked a hilltop. We’ll go up this-here fenceline and around home by the orchard to see if the early harvests are all gone offen the trees. That’s a summer apple fit for a queen to eat.”