When the apples were all gathered and the cider was all made, and the yellow pumpkins were rolled in from many a hill in billows of gold ... and the warm, late days of Indian Summer came in, dreamy, and calm, and still, with just enough frost to crisp the ground of a morning, but with warm traces of benignant, sunny hours at noon, there came over the community a sort of genial repose of spirit-a sense of something accomplished. Harriet Beecher Stowe
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