The heavy boots of the platelayers walking to and fro to their work on the permanent way brushed against it, and crushed the venturous fibres of the creeping cinquefoil that stretched into the path.

From the yellow standing wheat the sparrows rose in a bevy, and settled upon the hedge, chirping merrily.

Farther away, where a meadow had been lately mown, the swallows glided to and fro, but just above the short grass, round and round, under the shadow of the solitary oaks.

Over the green aftermath is the swallows' favourite haunt when the day, though passing fair, does not look like settled weather.

For lack of such weather the reapers have not yet entered the ripening corn.
But, for the hour, the sun shines brightly, and a narrow line along the upper surfaces of the metals, burnished by the polishing friction of a thousand wheels, glints like silver under the rays.