A quiet south wind marshalled the pearly clouds before it as though it were a shepherd driving a flock to the fold.
As I entered Brosna by the garden-way I noticed that Terence had run up the Irish flag on the flagstaff which he had placed on the little lawn outside Anthony's rooms, and I remembered that it was the anniversary of a battle in which my Anthony had covered himself with glory.
In the sheltered garden it was very warm.

The sun drew out the aromatic odours from the hedges and borders of box.

Terence had been polishing up the dial.

It winked in the sun, and as I passed I stopped to read the inscription-- "I count only the golden hours." There was no stir of Terence about.

Usually one heard him singing or whistling or shouting half a mile away.