Part 30 (1/2)

They had now commenced drawing from the windrows where they had been longest exposed to the curing process of the sun. On their return, Chester complained of Sam's laziness, declaring that he was only in the way.

”I'm lame, and you know it,” said Sam, in an injured tone.

”Very lame, I know, you ambitious mouse-catcher!” said Mr. Royden. ”I'll favor your broken leg. Here, if you can't rake hay, get up on the rick with James. See if you two can load as fast as Mark and I can pitch.”

”Get up,” cried Mark. ”We'll find something for you to do.”

Mark was a giant at pitching. He rolled up vast forkfuls, with which he inundated Sam at every rod. The latter had no time for fun; the moment he paused, up came a perfect cloud of hay, which he must dispose of, or be buried.

A towering load went to the stack. By the time the rick was emptied, the clouds, which had made no show of hostilities for some time, sent out a detachment that swept across the sky, black and threatening, wheeling and darkening the field.

”I vow,” said Mark, ”that looks like rain!”

”Rain--sure enough!” articulated Mr. Royden, with a troubled expression.

”A big sprinkle struck me right on the nose,” cried Sam.

”I wish we had got up the hay that was down, the first thing after dinner, and left the c.o.c.ks,” said the farmer, p.r.i.c.king the horses. ”I would have risked it in the stack, if I had known it was so well cured.

If there should come up a rain, it would be spoilt.”

There was real danger, and each man went to work as if the hay was all his own.

”Don't pitch so fast as you did afore, Mark,” whined Sam. ”You 'most covered me up, fifteen or sixteen times.”

”It'll do you good,” replied the jockey, heaving a fraction of a ton from the heavy windrow directly upon Sam's head. ”Tread it down!”

Father Brighthopes, who had been some time sitting by the stack, to rest his old limbs, observed the threatening clouds, and came out again with his rake.

”You'd better go to the house, Father,” said Mr. Royden, in a hurried tone. ”I would not have you get wet and take cold for ten times the worth of the hay.”

But the old man would not leave the field, which was now a busy and exciting scene. The storm seemed inevitable. Getting the hay into c.o.c.ks that would shed rain, Chester and the men worked almost miraculously.

It seemed as if they had husbanded their strength during the week for this crisis. They were not jaded and disheartened laborers, but bold and active workmen.

Meanwhile the new load swelled and loomed up prodigiously.

”When I give the word, James,” cried Mr. Royden, ”drive to the stack as straight as you can go. It must be topped off somehow, before it gets wet.”

The clouds roared and wheeled in the sky. The lightnings were vivid and frequent. The sultry air grew rapidly cool, and there was a gale rising.

A deep gloom had settled upon all the earth, coloring the scene of hurried labor with a tinge of awfulness, as if some dread event were impending.

A few heavy drops came hissing down upon the hay.

”Drive to the stack, James!” cried the farmer. ”Go with what you have got.”

”Take the rest of this win'row,” said Mark; ”hadn't we better? I can heave it up in a minute.”

”Be quick, then; for we must secure the stack.”