The morning sun was streaming through the crevices of the canvas when the man awoke. A warm glow pervaded the whole atmosphere of the marquee, and a single big blue fly buzzed musically round and round it. Besides the buzz of the fly there was not a sound. He looked about -- at the benches -- at the table supported by trestles -- at his basket of tools -- at the stove where the furmity had been boiled -- at the empty basins -- at some shed grains of wheat -- at the corks which dotted the grassy floor. Among the odds and ends he discerned a little shining object, and picked it up. It was his wife's ring.

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