AN EVENING BY THE MILL POND. 87 



AN EVENING BY THE MILL POND. 



"PHE sun is slowly sinking behind the hill, 

 sending shafts of golden light through the 

 traceries of the lofty elms. A gentle breeze 

 touches the leaves, and their latticed shadows 

 on the footpath dance merrily in response. 

 From some farmhouse, remote and unseen, 

 comes the occasional bark of a sheepdog or 

 the lowing of kine; and nearer, the cawing of 

 rooks busy with domestic arrangements for 

 the coming night. It is the hour of nature's 

 Angelus, and over all is the restfulness and 

 peace of a great calm, the calm of a summer 

 evening. 



Upon the mill pond the glory of the setting 

 sun rests caressingly, transforming it into a 

 shield of burnished silver, wherein is reflected 

 a field of wheat that stretches upward on the 

 farther side in golden radiande. 



Where the water deepens by the closed 



