The grass was up to their waists in the middle of the hollow, soft, tender, and feathery, spotted here and there among the trees with wild heart's-ease.
After a brief consultation--whether to take the rows lengthwise or diagonally--Prohor Yermilin, also a renowned mower, a huge, black-haired peasant, went on ahead.
He went up to the top, turned back again and started mowing, and they all proceeded to form in line behind him, going downhill through the hollow and uphill right up to the edge of the forest.
The sun sank behind the forest.
The dew was falling by now; the mowers were in the sun only on the hillside, but below, where a mist was rising, and on the opposite side, they mowed into the fresh, dewy shade.