It was a peaceful autumn day. The gilding of the Indian summer mellowed the pastures far and wide. The russet woods stood ripe to be stripped, but were yet full of leaf. The purple of heath-bloom, faded but not withered, tinged the hills. The beck wandered down to the Hollow, through a silent district; no wind followed its course or haunted its woody borders. Fieldhead gardens bore the seal of gentle decay. On the walks, swept that morning, yellow leaves had fluttered down again. Its time of flowers, and even of fruits, was over; but a scantling of apples enriched the trees. Only a blossom here and there expanded pale and delicate amidst a knot of faded leaves.

It was a peaceful autumn day; the russet woods were still full of leaf. The purple heath-bloom, faded but not withered, tinged the hills. Fieldhead's gardens bore the seal of gentle decay. Yellow leaves had fluttered down on to the walks; a few apples still enriched the trees. A blossom here and there expanded pale and delicate amidst a knot of faded leaves.
