But at this hour of the brooding,
sultry fall, there was a bitter fragrance in the air, and the world
seemed tuned to the somnolent sound of crickets, singing the fields to
sleep; That one little note brooded over the earth, and all the living
things upon it: hovering, and crooning, and lulling them to the rest
decreed from of old. The homely beauty of it smote upon him, though it
could not cheer. A hideous progress seemed to threaten, not alone the
few details it touched, but all the sweet, familiar things of life. Old
War-Wool Eaton, in assailing the town's historic peace, menaced also
the crickets and the breath of asters in the air. He was the rampant
spirit of an awful change. So, in the bitterness of revolt, Nicholas
Oldfield marched on, and stepped silently into the little schoolhouse,
to meet his fellows. They were standing about in groups, each laying
down the law according to his kind. The doors were wide open, and
Nicholas felt as if he had brought in with him the sounds of coming
night. They kept him sane, so that he could hold his own, as he might
not have done in a room full of winter brightness.
"Hullo!" cried Caleb Rivers, in his neutral voice. "Here's Mr.
Oldfield. Well, Mr. Oldfield, there's a good deal on hand.
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