All the cows in the pasture came towards her, for it was milking time, and any one who came suggested to them the luxury of that process.

Some followed her in slow and dubious fashion; some stopped before her on the path.

Eliza did not even look at them, and when she went in among the young fir trees they left her alone.
It was not a thick wood; the evening sun shone freely between the clumps of young spruce.

In an open glade an elm tree stood, stretching out branches sensitive to each breath of air, golden in the slant sunlight above the low dark firs.

The roots of this tree were raised and dry.
Eliza sat down on them.