Harding of Allenwood by Harold Bindloss

Three days passed, and still no rain fell to save the withering grain. On the evening of the fourth day, Beatrice was walking home alone from one of the neighboring farms. She was lost in painful thought and scarcely noticed where she was until she passed a clump of prominent trees which she knew was at the edge of Harding's place. Then she stopped and looked about her.

The sun had dipped, but an angry orange glow flushed the wide horizon and the sky overhead was a cold dark blue. The great sweep of grain caught the fading light, and Beatrice knew enough about farming to see how it had suffered. She could not look at it unmoved; the sight was pitiful. The wheat had cost long and patient labor, and she knew with what hope and ambition the man who had sown it had worked. It was only after years of strenuous toil, careful thought, and stern economy, that he had been able to break the broad belt of prairie, and in doing so he had boldly staked his all. Now it looked as if he had lost, and she was grieved to see so much effort thrown away.