UNDER THE ACORNS. 173 



There was no time ; the sun came, saw, and 

 conquered, and the sheaves were swept from the field. 

 Before yet the reapers had entered one field of ripe 

 wheat, I did indeed for a hrief evening obtain a 

 glimpse of the richness and still beauty of an English 

 harvest. The sun was down, and in the west a 

 pearly gray light spread widely, with a little scarlet 

 drawn along its lower border. Heavy shadows hung 

 in the foliage of the elms ; the clover had closed, and 

 the quiet moths had taken the place of the humming 

 bees. Southwards, the full moon, a red-yellow disk, 

 shone over the wheat, which appeared the finest pale 

 amber. A quiver of colour an undulation seemed 

 to stay in the air, left from the heated day; the 

 sunset hues and those of the red-tinted moon fell 

 as it were into the remnant of day, and filled the 

 wheat; they were poured into it, so that it grew in 

 their colours. Still heavier the shadows deepened 

 in the elms ; all was silence, save for the sound of 

 the reapers on the other side of the hedge, slash 

 rustle, slash rustle, and the drowsy night came down 

 as softly as an eyelid. 



While I sat on the log under the oak, every now 

 and then wasps came to the crooked pieces of sawn 

 timber, which had been barked. They did not 

 appear to be biting it they can easily snip off 

 fragments of the hardest oak, they merely alighted 

 and examined it, and went on again. Looking at 

 them, I did not notice the lane till something moved, 

 and two young pheasants ran by along the middle 

 of the track and into the cover at the side. The grass 

 at the edge which they pushed through closed behind 



