It was a finch.
Third: "Tink-tink-tink-tink-a-chink!" from the hedge,
It was a robin.
"Chuck-chuck-chuck!" overhead.
A squirrel.
Then, from the road, "With my ra-ta-ta, and my
rum-tum-tum!"
It was a ploughboy. Presently he came opposite,
and she believed from his voice that he was one of
the boys on her own farm. He was followed by a
shambling tramp of heavy feet, and looking through
the ferns Bathsheba could just discern in the wan light
of daybreak a team of her own horses. They stopped
to drink at a pond on the other side of the way'. She
watched them flouncing into the pool, drinking, tossing
up their heads, drinking again, the water dribbling
from their lips in silver threads. There was another
flounce, and they came out of the pond, and turned
back again towards the farm.
She looked further around. Day was just dawning,
and beside its cool air and colours her heated actions
and resolves of the night stood out in lurid contrast.
She perceived that in her lap, and clinging to her
hair, were red and yellow leaves which had come
down from the tree and settled silently upon her
during her partial sleep.
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