HOW WE MADE OUR HAY. 131 



scythe cut so dull as that?" — " Certainly not, sir." 

 " Well, then, let's have it out." Dull enough it was, 

 most certainly, and daubed with a coating of white 

 paint. But for something of intense faith and some- 

 thing of undue haste, I could never have attempted 

 to use it so. So, somewhat sadly — at least, on my 

 part — we unhitch the horses and draw out the knife. 



It is getting on to six o'clock, and one or two of 

 the men have arrived, and are peering into the for- 

 mation of the enemy with something of quiet exul- 

 tation, screwing round, when they think my back is 

 turned, and pulling a half-face at the terribly trampled 

 grass that lay around the humiliated monster. Angry 

 enough, I despatch a boy with both knives to the 

 nearest forge, which was kept by a semi-blacksmith, 

 semi-wheelwright, with directions to sharpen them 

 as keen and as quickly as he could. This he did, but 

 the hours they were away seemed almost an eternity. 

 Now at length they are brought back, and keen 

 enough in all conscience. It is now quite ten o'clock, 

 an hour by which I had intended having half the 

 field down. Alas for human hopes ! There is, how- 

 ever, nothing to be done for it but " pipes and resig- 

 nation," as Warburton remarks of a dull day on the 

 Nile. 



We return to the assault. The machine is backed 

 some five clear yards farther, and the sharpened knife 

 replaced. The horses are re-attached, and I condescend 

 to allow a clearing to be made with the scythe in the 

 surrounding trampled grass, so as to give the machine 

 a fair chance, lest it break down superfluously, and 

 thoroughly damp all parties. " Are you ready, sir ? " 



