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Excerpt from Lorna Doone, Vol. 2 of 3: A Romance of Exmoor
Ah, I knew my strength right well. Hill and valley scarcely seemed to be step and landing for me fiercest cattle I would play with, making them go back ward, and afraid of hurting them, like John Fry with his terrier; even rooted trees seemed to me but as sticks I could smite down, except for my love of every thing. The love of all things was upon me, and a softness to them all, and a sense of having something even such as they had.
Then the golden harvest came, waving on the broad hill-side, and nestling in the quiet nooks scooped from out the fringe of wood. A wealth of harvest such as never gladdened all our country-side, since my father ceased to reap, and his sickle hung to rust. There had not been a man on Exmoor fit to work that reap ing-hook, since the time its owner fell, In the prime of life and strength, before a sterner reaper. But now I took it from the wall, where mother proudly stored it; while she watched me, hardly knowing whether she should smile or cry.
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