Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/165

] "When will the sickles come?" And Ramoun turned Toward the trees, and even then discerned The reapers rising in the distance dim; Who, as they nearer drew, saluted him With waving sickles flashing in the sun. Then roared the master, "Welcome, every one!

"A very God-send!" cried he, loud and long; And soon the sheaf-binders about him throng, Saying, "Shake hands! Why, Holy Cross, look here! What heaps of sheaves, good master, will this year Cumber your treading-floor!"—"Mayhap," said he: "We cannot alway judge by what we see.

"Till all is trod, the truth will not be known. I have known years that promised," he went on, "Eighty full bushels to the acre fairly, And yielded in their stead a dozen barely. Yet let us be content!" And, with a smile, He shook their hands all round in friendly style,

And gossiped with old Ambroi affably. So entered all the homestead path, and he Called out once more, "Come forth, Mirèio mine: Prepare the chiccory and draw the wine!" And she right lavishly the table spread; While Kamoun first him seated at its head,