94 MEADOW GRASSES 



many days. They raked the harvest of 

 the meadow into mound-like wakes, while 

 the master haymaker, ever watching the 

 clouds and the wind, urged them to greater 

 endeavour, for rain meant instant loss. We 

 tossed wisps of hay at one another, and 

 formed ourselves into rival parties, each 

 with its castle, and defied our enemies with 

 shrill cries. The lumbering wain came 

 back from the stack, a host of flies pestering 

 the horse, who stamped and kicked in vain 

 when a gadfly fastened to his side and drew 

 his blood. If the weather were fine, and 

 no danger of rain impending, the carter 

 would, as a great treat, let us ride on the 

 broad back of the horse, who appreciated 

 the fan of wych-elm twigs that was whisked 

 about his ears and eyes. 



They were happy days gone now with 

 the wielders of the scythes in their faded 

 hats and their wooden ale-bottles. Now 

 the knives of the mowing machine shear 

 the field in half a day; the happy girls no 



