Harvest
Ward, Mrs. Humphry, 1851-1920
English
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HARVEST
by
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
Author of _Robert Elsmere_, _Lady Rose's Daughter_, _Missing_,
_Helena_, etc.
1920
I
Two old labourers came out of the lane leading to Great End Farm. Both
carried bags slung on sticks over their shoulders. One, the eldest and
tallest, was a handsome fellow, with regular features and a delicately
humorous mouth. His stoop and his slouching gait, the gray locks also,
which straggled from under his broad hat, showed him an old man--probably
very near his old-age pension. But he carried still with him a look
of youth, and he had been a splendid creature in his time. The other
was short of stature and of neck, bent besides by field work. A
broadly-built, clumsy man, with something gnome-like about him, and the
cheerful look of one whose country nerves had never known the touch of
worry or long sickness. The name of the taller man was Peter Halsey, and
Joseph Batts was his companion.
It was a fine July evening, with a cold north wind blowing from the plain
which lay stretched to their right. Under the unclouded sun, which by its
own "sun-time" had only reached half-past four in the afternoon, though
the clock in the village church had already struck half-past five, the
air was dry and parching, and the fields all round, the road itself, and
the dusty hedges showed signs of long drought.
"It du want rain," said Peter Halsey, looking at a crop of oats through
an open gate, "it du want rain--_bad_."
"Aye!" said the other, "that it du. Muster Shenstone had better 'a read
the prayer for rain lasst Sunday, I'm thinkin', than all them long ones
as ee _did_ read."
Halsey was silent a moment, his half-smiling eyes glancing from side to
side. At last he said slowly,--
"We du be prayin' a lot about ower sins, and Muster Shenstone is allus
preachin' about 'em. But it's the sins o' the _Garmins_ I be thinkin' of.
If it hadn't a bin for the sins o' the Garmins my Tom wouldn't ha' lost
'is right hand."
"An' ower Jim wouldn't be goin' into them trenches next November as ever
is," put in Batts. "It's the sins o' the Garmins as ha' done _that_, an'
nothin' as you or I ha' done, Peter."
Halsey shook his head assentingly.
"Noa--for all that pratin', pacifist chap was sayin' lasst week. I
didn't believe a word ee said. 'Yis,' I says, 'if you want this war to
stop, I'm o' your mind,' I says, 'but when you tells me as _England_
done it--you'm--'"
The short man burst into a cackling laugh.
"'You'm a liar!' Did you say that, Peter?"
Peter fenced a little.
"There be more ways nor one o' speakin' your mind," he said at last. "But
I stood up to un. Did you hear, Batts, as Great End Farm is let?"
The old man turned an animated look on his companion.
"Well, for sure!" said Batts, astonished. "An' who's the man?"
"It's not a man. It's a woman."
"A woman!" repeated Batts, wondering. "Well, these be funny times to live
in, when the women go ridin' astride an' hay-balin', an' steam-ploughin',
an' the Lord knows what. And now they must be takin' the farms, and
turnin' out the men. Well, for sure."
A mild and puzzled laughter crossed the speaker's face.
Halsey nodded.
"An' now they've got the vote. That's the top on't! My old missis, she
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