They were lightly-built, well-conditioned beasts, but their days of labour had wrought in them more of gentleness than of fire.

As they drank now, the breeze played with their manes and forelocks, brushing them about their drooping necks and meek faces.

Caius pumped the water for them, and watched them meditatively the while.

There was a fire low down in the western sky; over the purple of the leafless woods and the bleak acres of bare red earth its light glanced, not warming them, but showing forth their coldness, as firelight glancing through a window-pane glows cold upon the garden snows.

The big butter-nut-tree that stood up high and strong over the pump rattled its twigs in the air, as bare bones might rattle.
It was while he was still at the watering that the elder Simpson drove up to the house door in his gig.