There were fields of grain, and blue waving feathers from chimneys of cottage and farm-house.

In the distance showed a village, one street climbing a hill, and atop a church with a spire piercing the clear east.

The stream widened, flowing thin over a pebbly bed.

The sun was not yet down.

It painted a glory in the west and set lanes and streets of gold over the hills and made the little river like Pactolus.