Strings of carts laden with freshly cut corn and hay moved slowly along, the heads of the patient oxen bent low to the ground, straining under the weight they dragged. High above the swinging loads long-haired youths stretched in lazy content, piped dreamy tunes upon their wooden flutes, their eyes hidden beneath broad-brimmed hats. All were dressed in the same white shirts Radu had worn. There were also old men walking beside the vehicles, bearing heavy scythes on their shoulders. Their faces were browned, the colour of sun-baked earth; and from under the shade of their hats silvery locks hung down covering the napes of their wrinkled necks. One friendly peasant had bidden Eric take a rest on the top of his hay, and our wanderer had gladly accepted, swinging himself up on the swaying mass. There he reposed among the fragrant green, half buried beneath the flowers of yesterday. The faithful hawk flew down from the blue and perched close to his feet. Eric closed his eyes, hugging his sword to his breast; and as he did so the vision of his dream stood before him with startling vividness. Never had he seen the face so distinctly; never had the eyes looked into his from so near. He sat up, almost expecting to find some unknown being at his side; but no--he was shut in all about by the withered grass that smelt so sweet and was so deliciously soft to his limbs. But why had he so clearly felt his vision's sweet presence? It made his heart beat with breathless excitement. How warm the sun was! How long the road! The clouds of dust raised by the wheels of the carts were so thick that Eric could no more see where he was going. But had he not always allowed Fate to shape events as she would? This time again he would not worry, but simply believe in his luck as he had done all along, and trust in God who had so mercifully guided his steps. Eric must have fallen asleep on his moving bed, because when he awoke the sun was already low and the carts had stopped beside a wood near the edge of the road. The peasants had unyoked their oxen, which were quietly chewing the cud, watching their masters with large humid eyes, their tails lazily flicking the swarms of flies from off their flanks. The men sat in groups; some smoking, some preparing their meal of Indian corn over a small fire they had lit in the ditch. Eric climbed down from his lofty resting-place, looking around him rather dazed from his sleep. The falcon rose noiselessly into the air and flew off, perching upon a tall tree in the wood beyond. It had not yet forsaken its travelling companion, and Eric followed its flight with an affectionate look. The men made room for the youth as they all sat around the boiling pot that hung over the fire from three crossed bars. One man stirred the thick dough with a solid rounded stick; from time to time they took draughts of cool water, putting their lips to the thick spouts of quaintly shaped earthen pots which were standing at their side.