HAYING TIME 



ing of how he looks, or what the criticism will be, 

 or what impression he is making on the observer. 

 He is simply taking the straight line between two 

 points, and the points are the field and the barn. 



Gabe had two teams in the field so that he 

 could cut and rake simultaneously, for his 

 timothy was very dry, and he did not intend to 

 get more of it &quot; thrown &quot; than he could manage, 

 and I noticed that he kept his eye on the west as 

 though he expected a shower. About two o clock 

 I began to pray for it. My back ached, and my 

 hands were blistered. But Griselle had come 

 into the field with her chip hat, bringing a dis 

 tinctly Watteau flavour at last, and I was not going 

 to give way under her eye. She looked at me 

 with wonder, I thought, and presently had a 

 pitch-fork in her hand. By and by, when a bank 

 of dun clouds began to roll up in the west, I 

 rejoiced in my heart. It really looked like an 

 atmospheric rescue. We had cut about four 

 acres, and now it would be a race to get it in. I 

 distinctly remember that some kind of noble 

 enthusiasm was caught from Gabe, in this conflict 

 with Nature, of an entirely different quality from 

 that zest with which one enters into a conflict 

 with his fellow-man. I forgot all about my hands 

 and my back in my sympathic anxiety to see 

 Gabe beat that rain-storm, and I felt like giving 

 a shout as the last forkful went up into his hay 

 loft and a peal of congratulatory thunder broke 

 over us that startled the horses. 



How it did rain ! It pounded. The water 



57 



