The pastures, sloping to the blue and amber sky, had been smoking hot before the rain came; the first day’s moisture had been lost, for it was turned to the steam which men had named a ground-mist. The second day’s fall had been lapped up, greedily as a cat laps milk, and the third day’s, too, had gone to feed the soil. It was only on the fourth day that the streams had begun to brawl and chatter, as if they had claimed all the mercy of the skies. Like most folk who make noise, the brooks were spreading an empty boast abroad; they were idlers for the most part, dawdling down a field-way here, a glen there, until some miller stayed their course and bade them turn his mill-wheel for him; but it was the thrifty, working pastures that caught the first fruits, and turned them to good uses. Gaunt, as he rode about his lands, could see the miracle take shape before his eyes. Sharp Fell, away to the southwest, had been as grey-brown as a hazelnut, withered before it comes to ripeness; now it showed a tinge of green, and each day the green lay deeper, richer across the burnt-up pastures. He had watched this uprising of the grass in far-off countries when the wet season followed extreme heat; but never before in Garth. Yeoman Hirst overtook him one of these days, when both were riding to Shepston market. “Seems there’s going to be a hay-crop, after all, though a lile bit late in the year,” he laughed, pointing to the pastures with his switch. “They say Garth weather’s queer, but I niver yet made hay at Kirstmas-time.” “Let’s say there’ll be good grazing by and by, and that’s something to be thankful for, before the winter drives the beasts indoors.” Gaunt was shy of his fellow men, remembering past coldness; but with Cilla’s father he was himself. The yeoman’s big, hearty outlook on the world inspired confidence in all who met him; his friendship, not to be bought at a price, was counted a privilege; moreover, he was master of the house that sheltered Cilla. They rode into Shepston together, and stabled at the same inn; and Hirst, before he went about his business, turned to Reuben. “We might as well jog home in company, we,” he said. “What time d’ye start out for Garth?” “Four o’ the clock, or thereabouts.” “Well, we can meet here, then. I shall have done by that time and a lonely ride does no man good, they say.”