Then he laid the books on the log, the arm load of plants beside them, and went to the river to wash his soiled hands.
Belshazzar's short bark told him the Girl was coming, and between the trees he saw the dog race to meet her and she bent to stroke his head.

She wore the same dress and appeared even paler and thinner.

The Harvester hurried up the bank, wiping his hands on his handkerchief.
"Glad to see you!" he greeted her casually.

"I've fixed you a seat with a back rest to-day.

Don't be frightened at the stack of herbs.