It was hoped that with the assistance of the three recruits, the field might have been cleared yesterday, but there were still eight or ten loads to bring in to-day. The boss got himself up in his coolest attire for a cycle ride to some auction or other but returned in less than a quarter of an hour with the news that the big mill was on the way. So the programme had to be changed and fresh dinner put in the oven for three extra men.
As the stack for threshing had been built near the house, I took the opportunity of watching the busy scene for half an hour, trying more or less successfully to resist the tugging of a baby who wanted me to play hide-and-seek with him in an empty pig hole.
Perhaps it was their immature strength which made the lads appear to have much harder work than the men. One of them that forked and three that cut the straps had never an instant’s pause. Their crimson faces and chests — for their shirts were open — were wet and plentifully adorned with the flying chaff. The men looked cool and none too hard worked. The stack was finished well before twelve o’clock and leading in began again in the afternoon. It was almost dusk before the last cart-load wound down the brae. We said we would not forget for some time this wearyfu’ harvest that ended on the first of October.