The man and the boy, each with a basket on his arm, were at the farther end of the field, dropping potatoes.

I stood quietly watching them.

They stepped quickly and kept their eyes on the furrows: good workers.

I liked the looks of them.

I liked also the straight, clean furrows; I liked the appearance of the horse.
"I will stop here," I said to myself.
I cannot at all convey the sense of high adventure I had as I stood there.