Getting the Horses Ready 



THE hay is safe in the haggard. The fields of luscious 

 green after-grass still retain circles of greyness where 

 the haycocks scalded the meadows. Most of the oats 

 is in the hand-stacks in the stubbles, though some of 

 the late-cut fields have their crop still in little stooks. 

 Blackberries are growing over-ripe. White fluffy seed- 

 pods have replaced the golden flowers on the baugher- 

 lawns. Above a field where potatoes have been dug a 

 titlark hovers delicately, his reedy note lamenting the 

 altering weather conditions. Bullocks, fat and glossy, 

 waddle lumberingly through the pastures, grazing 

 contentedly in the pale sunlight. No longer need they 

 charge madly, with tongues extended, mouths slavering, 

 sides heaving and tails upright, to seek shelter from the 

 broiling sun and the annoying flies. On the brow of 

 the hill the horses are grouped. Some stand, dozing 

 contentedly; two are indulging in mutual neck-scratch- 

 ing, and one old veteran appears so satisfied with the 

 world that he seems loth even to switch his tail lest he 

 might disturb the peacefulness of his surroundings. 



Bridle-bits clink. The horses are instantly on the 

 alert. Sensitive ears cock forward. Soon their eyes 

 confirm what their ears suspected. With nostrils flaired, 

 they stand a moment : tense, as though they were 



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