It was a sloping field, through the middle of which ran a little stream down to the meadow's end, where, fringed and hidden by a plantation of trees, the Avon flowed.

Here, too, in all directions, the hay-fields lay, either in green swathes, or tedded, or in the luxuriously-scented quiles.

The lane was quite populous with waggons and hay-makers--the men in their corduroys and blue hose--the women in their trim jackets and bright calamanco petticoats.

There were more women than men, by far, for the flower of the peasant youth of England had been drafted off to fight against "Bonyparty." Still hay-time was a glorious season, when half our little town turned out and made holiday in the sunshine.
"I think we will go to a quieter place, John.

There seems a crowd down in the meadow; and who is that man standing on the hay-cart, on the other side the stream ?" "Don't you remember the bright blue coat?
'Tis Mr.Charles.