Lenore knew all the workmen except one.

Silas Warner, an old, gray-headed farmer, had been with her father as long as she could remember.
"Whar you goin', lass ?" he called, as he halted to wipe his red face with a huge bandana.

"It's too hot to run the way you're a-doin'." "Oh, Silas, it's a grand morning!" she replied.
"Why, so 'tis! Pitchin' hay hyar made me think it was hot," he said, as she tripped on.

"Now, lass, don't go up to the wheat-fields." But Lenore heard heedlessly, and she ran on till she came to the uncut alfalfa, which impeded her progress.

A wonderful space of green and purple stretched away before her, and into it she waded.