

Chapter XVII 



A SUMMER NOON 



HE stir of the morning has 

 given place to a silence 

 broken only by the shrill 

 whir of the locust. The distant 

 shore lines that ran clear and 

 white against the low back- 

 ground of green have become dim and in- 

 distinct; all things are touched by a soft 

 haze which changes the sentiment of the 

 landscape from movement to repose, from 

 swift and multitudinous activity to the hush 

 of sleep. The intense blue of the morning 

 sky is dimmed and the great masses of 

 trees are motionless. The distant harvest 

 fields where the rhythmic lines of the 

 mowers have moved alert and harmonious 

 through the morning hours are deserted. 

 On earth silence and rest, and in the great 

 arch of the sky a sea of light so full and 

 splendid that it seems almost to dim the 

 fiery effluence of the sun itself. In such 

 an hour one stretches himself under the 

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