JUNE RAINS— HAYING— HARVEST 199 



June had set in, and when we reached Troy Hill 

 it was a miniature Niagara, and I saw that the safe 

 conveyance of the rake hitched on to the mower 

 hitched on to the wagon was going to be a problem 

 sufficient to tax the ingenuity and experience of 

 Roddy McMahon himself. 



At the hip of the hill we decided to take off the 

 rake and push it back into the wide wayside. 

 Relieved of the tail of the outfit. Tommy and Jim 

 persevered gamely until they came to the neck of 

 the hill, which, however, really defied footing, and 

 there was nothing for it but to get rid of the mower 

 and pull the team and wagon along in sprints. 

 Sheets of rain poured down on us, darkness was 

 falling, thunder rumbled all around and in and out 

 of the hills. My poor brother ! And poor Canada ! 

 But the next day he was so nice about the adven- 

 ture and so sorry about his expressive expressions, 

 which I really hadn't noticed, and in any case should 

 have considered he was quite justified in using. But 

 when he said, " I wish I had your patience," I was 

 so flattered that I really had to tell the truth. 

 " You wouldn't," I said, " if it had been a wind 

 storm. I rather like rain." 



To the hay harvest he was quite a godsend. 

 Never since the days of his sojourn have I seen such 

 marvellous loads. The few Canadians who saw them 

 stared in amazement, and indeed on one occasion 

 there was nearly a tragedy. With Hardwick minor's 

 help he had already pitched and packed two loads 

 on my advice. I had not seen the size of the loads, 

 and Roddy McMahon had assured me that three 

 in the morning and two in the afternoon was a fair 

 average. They had gone out for the third. Twelve 



