He stood till
the squire motioned him to sit down. The dogs rolled on the sward, but,
though in the shadow, they could not extend themselves sufficiently nor
pant fast enough. Yonder the breeze that came up over the forest on its
way to the downs blew through the group of trees on the knoll, cooling
the deer as it passed.
MY OLD VILLAGE.
'John Brown is dead,' said an aged friend and visitor in answer to my
inquiry for the strong labourer.
'Is he really dead?' I asked, for it seemed impossible.
'He is. He came home from his work in the evening as usual, and seemed to
catch his foot in the threshold and fell forward on the floor. When they
picked him up he was dead.'
I remember the doorway; a raised piece of wood ran across it, as is
commonly the case in country cottages, such as one might easily catch
one's foot against if one did not notice it; but he knew that bit of wood
well. The floor was of brick, hard to fall on and die. He must have come
down over the crown of the hill, with his long slouching stride, as if
his legs had been half pulled away from his body by his heavy boots in
the furrows when a ploughboy.
