Hawker had a writing friend named Hollanden.

In New York Hollanden had announced his resolution to spend the summer at Hemlock Inn.

"I don't like to see the world progressing," he had said; "I shall go to Sullivan County for a time." In the morning Hawker took his painting equipment, and after manoeuvring in the fields until he had proved to himself that he had no desire to go toward the inn, he went toward it.

The time was only nine o'clock, and he knew that he could not hope to see Hollanden before eleven, as it was only through rumour that Hollanden was aware that there was a sunrise and an early morning.
Hawker encamped in front of some fields of vivid yellow stubble on which trees made olive shadows, and which was overhung by a china-blue sky and sundry little white clouds.

He fiddled away perfunctorily at it.