The ceasing of the hen's exultation brought a startling quiet, and through it there came softly a consciousness of water falling. From the Steep Water and the Broad Beck it was heard, a sound half of melancholy and half of joy, and sometimes it was loud, and again had a note so fading that silence caught at it. There was a cap of cloud on the Spiked Crags, but the Blue Hill stood broad and clear, and when Alexander turned his head and looked seaward, he saw that shining thread of water, and the lake, and the lower hills lying under a pale and lofty sky. Vague scents of flower and tree, of soil and wind, rose to his nostrils or went past him: he thought he smelt the very essence of the earth, he thought he felt God breathing on His world. Peace was spread on it like a hand, and in that blessing Alexander shared. A homely sound drew him from the heights to which contemplation had carried him, and looking down, he saw a procession of brown and speckled hens, who lifted their feet delicately from the dust of the road, but did not refuse to peck in it. Dappling the little throng with white, three solemn ducks waddled heavily, and, last of all, like marshalls of the flock, the grey geese came, craning their necks and gobbling gently. They paused at the gate that lead into the field, argued for a while, and slipped, one by one, under the lowest bar. Alexander followed them over the wet fields. He left his slippers at the gate, and went barefooted, for he was in love with the morning, and greedy of all it had to give: the damp earth was pressed into the arches of his feet, and the long grasses shook down their hanging drops. A blackbird sang to him as he swished by, and when he reached the pool under the birches, he thought it waited for him like a mistress who had no life but his. Not yet quite wakened from the night, it stirred languorously and spread dark arms to hold him, while the thin birch leaves fluttered on their stalks, quivering in a selfless joy.