142 THE RING OF NATURE 



full. Now we must lift our pitch a little higher, 

 and, watching the loader, place them more or less 

 where he wants them to stay. Higher still goes 

 the load, with the effect that each pitch seems 

 about twice as heavy as the last. Sometimes 

 when a fair bundle of hay is overhead, down falls 

 some or all of it, scattering dust in the eyes of the 

 perspiring pitcher. Finally, every inch of the 

 pike handle has to be utilised, and instead of 

 hoisting a little bundle of sweet-smelling hay, one 

 feels as though the very soul was being wrenched 

 out by the inexorable tool. 



After pitching a few loads I leave off and take 

 stock of my injuries. A patch of skin has dis- 

 appeared from the inside of each thumb, there 

 are blisters visible at the roots of many fingers, 

 and I feel, though I cannot see, where the handle 

 has been taking bites preparatory to further havoc. 

 Moreover, it seems as though I had been con- 

 verted into a porcupine, for I bristle with the 

 spears of an atrocity called lop grass twisty, 

 double-pointed things that, whichever way they 

 fall, proceeded to bore through the cloth and enter 

 the flesh. Such is one form of idyllic summer 

 labour in the fields. 



Then I go to the task of unloading the waggon at 

 the rick. A few days ago, I saw a woman acquit 

 herself well at this post, and the work looked 

 easy and graceful. But alas ! we must know a 

 great deal about the building of a load before we 

 can take one to pieces. Standing on a mass of 



