CHAPTER XVI. THE BRIDE SPEAKETH WITH FACE-OF-GOD
February had died into March, and March was now twelve days old, on a
fair and sunny day an hour before noon; and Face-of-god was in a
meadow a scant mile down the Dale from Burgstead. He had been
driving a bull into a goodman's byre nearby, and had had to spend
toil and patience both in getting him out of the fields and into the
byre; for the beast was hot with the spring days and the new grass.
So now he was resting himself in happy mood in an exceeding pleasant
place, a little meadow to wit, on one side whereof was a great
orchard or grove of sweet chestnuts, which went right up to the feet
of the Southern Cliffs: across the meadow ran a clear brook towards
the Weltering Water, free from big stones, in some places dammed up
for the flooding of the deep pasture-meadow, and with the grass
growing on its lips down to the very water. There was a low bank
just outside the chestnut trees, as if someone had raised a dyke
about them when they were young, which had been trodden low and
spreading through the lapse of years by the faring of many men and
beasts.
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