THE FARM SUNDAY 69 



&quot;Well, what about church?&quot; 



&quot;Church! It s half-past ten now.&quot; 



&quot;We can t do it. Too bad!&quot; 



&quot;Now, if it had n t been for that cat!&quot; 

 or that hen or that calf! 



There are many Sunday morning stories 

 that might be told, but one must be told. 



It was a hot, still Sunday in July. The 

 hens sought the shade early, and stood about 

 with their beaks half open and a distant look 

 in their eyes, as if they saw you but chose to 

 look just beyond you. It always irritates me 

 to see the hens do that. It makes me feel 

 hotter. Such a day it was. But things on 

 the farm seemed propitious, and we said at 

 breakfast that we would go. 



&quot;I ve just got to take that two-year-old 

 Devon down to the lower pasture,&quot; said 

 Jonathan, &quot;and then I ll harness. We ought 

 to start early, because it s too hot to drive Kit 

 fast.&quot; 



&quot;Do you think you d better take the cow 

 down this morning?&quot; I said, doubtfully. 

 &quot;Could n t you wait until we come back?&quot; 



&quot;No; that upper pasture is getting burned 

 out, and she ought to get into some good 



