Here the brook darted down through pasture land to merge its waters finally into those of Bull Run.
Harry left it regretfully.

It had been a good comrade with its pleasant chatter over the pebbles.
Two miles of open country lay before him, and beyond was another cloak of trees.

He decided to ride for the forest, and remain there until dark.

He would not then be more than fifteen miles from Washington, and he could make the remaining distance under the cover of darkness.
He followed a narrow road between two fields, in one of which he saw a farmer ploughing, an old man, gnarled and knotty, whose mind seemed bent wholly upon his work.

He was ploughing young corn, and although he could not keep from seeing Harry, he took no apparent notice of him.
The boy rode on, but the picture of the grim old man ploughing between the two armies lingered with him.