On the higher paths a fresh breeze was energetically chasing the butterflies and driving the few small clouds disconsolate out of the sky. The lovers stood for some time watching the people of the farm in the down below dip their sheep on this sunny morning. There was a ragged noise of bleating from the flock penned in a corner of the yard. Two red-armed men seized a sheep, hauled it to a large bath that stood in the middle of the yard, and there held it, more or less in the bath, whilst a third man baled a dirty yellow liquid over its body. The white legs of the sheep twinkled as it butted this way and that to escape the yellow douche, the blue-shirted men ducked and struggled. There was a faint splashing and shouting to be heard even from a distance. The farmer’s wife and children stood by ready to rush in with assistance if necessary.
Helena laughed with pleasure.
“That is really a very quaint and primitive proceeding,” she said. “It is cruder than Theocritus.”
“In an instant it makes me wish I were a farmer,” he laughed. “I think every man has a passion for farming at the bottom of his blood. It would be fine to be plain-minded, to see no farther than the end of one’s nose, and to own cattle and land.”
“Would it?” asked Helena sceptically.
“If I had a red face, and went to sleep as soon as I sat comfortable, I should love it,”he said.
“It amuses me to hear you long to be stupid,” she replied.
“To have a simple, slow-moving mind and an active life is the desideratum.”
“Is it?” she asked ironically.
“I would give anything to be like that,” he said.