New Walks in Old Ways 



around alone, for the click of that 

 machine in motion bridges for me all 

 the space that lies this side of Boyland. 

 Hay time! Hay days of glorious 

 memory! How I loved the coming of 

 the sharp knives in the meadow! And 

 yet, at the last moment, I was always 

 worried as the teams were started. 

 Not that I would stop the proceeding; 

 for good rich grass and clovers must 

 not be allowed to go uncut. I knew 

 the value of well-stowed lofts when we 

 were all in winter quarters. In fact, 

 there was no event of the year that 

 brought more real delight than the 

 day when the big gray, patient Per- 

 cherons, wearing white cotton fly cov- 

 ers, were started on the job. But there 

 was one source of real anxiety as the 

 crop began to come down. I knew 

 that the broad expanse of timothy and 

 red clover was the home of many 

 meadow larks, and that every nest was 

 in deadly peril. And so my joy in the 

 hay harvest was clouded by concern. 

 [36] 



