Book One - Chapter 31 In Which Donald Bids Me Farewell

Halcyon days! my masters, happy, care-free, halcyon days! To
waken to the glory of a summer's morning, and shaking off dull
sleep, like a mantle, to stride out into a world all green and
gold, breathing a fragrant air laden with sweet, earthy smells.
To plunge within the clear, cool waters of the brook whose magic
seemed to fill one's blood with added life and lust of living.
Anon, with Gargantuan appetite, to sit and eat until even Donald
would fall a-marvelling; and so, through shady coppice and sunny
meadow, betimes to work.

Halcyon days! my masters, happy, care-free, halcyon days! with
the ringing hammers, the dancing sparks mounting upon the smoke,
the sweat, the toil, yet all lightened with laugh and song and
good-fellowship.

And then, the labor done, the fire dead--Black George to his
lonely cottage, and I to "The Bull"--there to sit between Simon
and the Ancient, waited upon by the dexterous hands of sweet-eyed
Prudence. What mighty rounds of juicy beef, washed down by
draughts of good brown ale! What pies and puddings, prepared
by those same slender, dexterous hands! And later, pipe in
mouth, what grave discussions upon men and things--peace and
war--the dead and the living--the rise and fall of nations--and
Simon's new litter of pigs! At last, the "Good nights" being
said--homeward through the twilit lanes, often pausing to look
upon the shadowy woods, to watch some star, or hearken to the
mournful note of a night jar, soft with distance.