IT was a day of dust and blaze.

Dust lay thick on the ground, it filled the air, it silvered the lower branches of the wayside trees, it turned the old brown horse into a dappled grey, it powdered the black hair of Barney Bill and of Paul until they looked like vagabond millers.

They sat side by side on the footboard while the old horse jogged on, whisking flies away with a scanty but persistent tail.
Paul, barefoot and barelegged, hatless, coatless, absorbed blaze and dust with the animal content of a young lizard.

A month's summer wandering had baked him to gipsy brown.

A month's sufficient food and happiness had filled gaunt hollows in his face and covered all too visible ribs with flesh.