Jeminy regarded the gate-post with a thoughtful air. But
inwardly he was very much pleased with himself.
That year they kept harvest home before September was fairly done. In
the meadows the hay, gathered in stacks, shone in the moonlight like
little hills of snow; and in the shadows the crickets hopped and sang,
repeating with shrill voices, the murmurs of lovers, hidden in the
woods.
Anna Barly and her friends watched the moon come up along the road to
Adams' Forge. In Ezra Adams' haywagon they were singing the harvest
in. Their voices rolled across the fields in lovely glees, rose in the
old, familiar songs, broke into laughter, and died away in whispers.
Thus they renewed their interrupted youth, and celebrated the return of
peace.
It was a cold, still night, with dew white as frost over the ground.
Anna, huddled in the hay, could see her breath go out in fog; while the
moon, shining in her face, seemed to veil in shadow the forms of her
companions--Elsie Cobbler with her round, soft elbow over Brandon
Adam's face, Susie Ploughman murmuring to Alec Stove .
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