The new tractor was parked at the head of the path down the hill. From the tractor seat, Merry could see across the valley to fall foliage on distant hills. She climbed up, sat down. On the path below were meadow and trees. On this sunny day in September, she took off her hat. In the September breeze, her hair curled around her sun-bronzed face.
As soon as her Father returned from Hingham, he would come to the farm to say hello, she thought. There were things that she would miss about the farm, but it was time to go home. She began to sing a song that when she was a child her mother sang to her: Maman, les p'tits bateaux qui vont sur l'eau.
Ils font le tour du monde
Mais comme la terre est ronde
On the trail below, something was moving. Probably white-tailed deer.
No deer families emerged from the path, but not far from where she sat, a male voice joined in the chorus:
Mais comme la terre est ronde,
Ils reviennent chez eux.
Traditionally the farmer's wife set out bread and cheese for busy farmworkers who, instead of sitting down at a lunch table, preferred to eat lunch in their rooms or as a picnic. Often Merry (and Jeanette before she went home) sat outdoors enjoying the view and talking with each other.