He let them rest frequently, especially at the end of the furrow where there was a grassy bank on which the plowman could lie prone on his back and look into the dreamy distances of the hills or up into the veiling clouds.
Dorian could afford to take it a little easy that afternoon, so he thought.

The summer's work was practically over: the wheat had been thrashed; the hay was in the stacks; the potatoes were in the pit; the corn stood in Indian wigwam bunches in the yard; the fruit and vegetables, mostly of the mother's raising, had been sufficient for their simple needs.

They were well provided for the winter; and so Dorian was happy and contented as everyone in like condition should be on such an Indian summer afternoon.
Mildred Brown's visit to the farm had ended some weeks ago; but only yesterday his mother had received a note from Mrs.Brown, asking if her daughter might not come again.

Her former visit had done her so much good, and now the beautiful weather was calling her out into the country.

It was a shame, Mildred had said, that Indian summer should "waste its sweetness on the desert air of the city." "What do you say ?" Mrs.Trent had asked Dorian.
"Why--why--of course, mother, if she doesn't make too much work for you." And so Mildred had received the invitation that she was very welcome to come to Greenstreet and stay as long as she desired.