The day's work was done.
Dick had stopped whistling long before the middle of the afternoon, but
now as he shouldered his scythe he struck up "My Fairy Fay" with some
marks of his earlier enthusiasm.
"Well, Dick," said I, "we've had a good day's work together."
"You bet," said Dick.
And I watched him as he went down the lane with a pleasant friendly
feeling of companionship. We had done great things together.
I wonder if you ever felt the joy of utter physical weariness: not
exhaustion, but weariness. I wonder if you have ever sat down, as I did
last night, and felt as though you would like to remain just there
always--without stirring a single muscle, without speaking, without
thinking even!
Such a moment is not painful, but quite the reverse--it is supremely
pleasant. So I sat for a time last evening on my porch. The cool, still
night had fallen sweetly after the burning heat of the day. I heard all
the familiar sounds of the night. A whippoorwill began to whistle in the
distant thicket. Harriet came out quietly--I could see the white of her
gown--and sat near me. I heard the occasional sleepy tinkle of a
cowbell, and the crickets were calling. A star or two came out in the
perfect dark blue of the sky.
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