Already his heart went down.

He was being taken into bondage.

His freedom in the beloved home valley was going now.
The brewers' waggons came rolling up from Keston with enormous barrels, four a side, like beans in a burst bean-pod.

The waggoner, throned aloft, rolling massively in his seat, was not so much below Paul's eye.
The man's hair, on his small, bullet head, was bleached almost white by the sun, and on his thick red arms, rocking idly on his sack apron, the white hairs glistened.

His red face shone and was almost asleep with sunshine.