The river-drivers were just beginning to return, and by and by the flax swingeing would begin in the little secluded valley by the river; and one would see, near and far, the bright sickle flashing across the gold and green area; and all the pleasant furniture of summer set forth in pride, by the Mother of the House whom we call Nature.
Valmond was alive to it all, almost too alive, for at first the flamboyancy of his spirit touched him off with melodrama.

Yet, on the whole, he seemed at first more natural than involved or obscure.

His love for children was real, his politeness to women spontaneous.

He was seen to carry the load of old Madame Degardy up the hill, and place it at her own door.

He also had offered her a pinch of snuff, which she acknowledged by gravely offering a pinch of her own from a dirty twist of brown paper.
One day he sprang over a fence, took from the hands of coquettish Elise Malboir an axe, and split the knot which she in vain had tried to break.
Not satisfied with this, he piled full of wood the stone oven outside the house, and carried water for her from the spring.