“I think you will,” he agreed seriously, still watching her so that she was forced to look away. “I think you’ll manage anything you set your mind to . . . even the feller you marry.” And he laughed.
“He’ll not do me like Mister did Missis,” said Flo. “Did you hear?”
“I come home in same chara.”
“Oh, so you were as bad. Did you get drunk, too?”
“No, me an’ the driver kept sober . . . I kept sober in case ’e changed his mind.” Jack blinked, as if he couldn’t believe himself. Flo guessed that he didn’t drink and she felt glad.
“I should hate anyone to do me like he does Missis,” she said. “I’d want someone I could trust.”
“Like me?” Jack asked back at once.
“No,” said Flo. “I’d sooner have Mike. Gee up!”
The piebald turned with the least expense of effort, swivelling on his rear feet. Jack stood looking broodingly after them. Just before she got out of sight past the house Flo turned, and as though surprised to see him still there, waved her free hand and playfully to herself imitated his funny, “Ta-ta the noo; see you some more.” Then she said softly, “He’s a funny man, isn’t he, Mike? He’s funny, but he’s nice. I wonder if he ever says anything to you about me.”
Mike pushed his nose sideways to rub against her hand holding the bit. Perhaps he was meaning to nod, “Yes”, but she would have liked to have felt sure.
Then they were going through the field gate and there was the rake with its shafts dropped waiting. She hooked the hame chains and tossed the saddle chain over and buckled the belly strap. One of the carts was in the far corner with Bert on top. Only about five loads were left, and it would be a hurry if the raking was to be finished to time. Flo slapped the reins and Mike seemed to understand. How much easier it was than when her ankle had been hurt. With hand and foot together she made the tines clash and enjoyed it. Mike was easier to drive than Colonel, and she combed in long straight ribbons, leaving scarcely a windle anywhere. It was good to look on the clean field marked by faint wheel tracks and Mike’s hooves in a kind of pattern. Riding swiftly to and fro she felt superior to the men labouring so slowly. The tall man with the wart and the bald man were reaching and the sandy-haired man was lugging coils from the hedge-side where the ground sloped too much for the cart. All of them moved sluggishly, as though weary, and in contrast Flo felt free like a swallow. The cool wind came down the lake and she looked upwind and breathed deep and was aware of the beauty of the little ripples running up the lagoon beach, always coming, though never getting any farther. On the point at the lagoon entrance was the figure that now she knew so well. She wondered if he had caught anything, but that was all. Then she drove round and hurried back to add to the line of tawdry rakings, which were not worth bothering about really, except for tidiness. But she
“What d’you think, Mike?” she asked aloud.
The piebald swung his ears back, but as he could not make anything of this as an order, very sensibly he plodded on. In at the gate came Mr. Nadin and looked round appraisingly. Nearly all the hay was gone. The three fishermen were slowly breaking the long rows left by the rake into great untidy pyramids. Flo had very nearly finished. All of them had worked on without tea, and there was the increasing coolness of dusk coming off the water. Mr. Nadin trudged across in Mike’s way. Flo stopped, looking down.
“When that’s done follow a’ter the cart,” said the farmer. “We’ll have it all proper.”
So the last cart rolled in and cruised round where the pyramids were. The rakings were light and loading was quick though untidy. Clem on top had a job to stand up; he rocked as on a stack of hair-springs. Flo manœuvred behind and round about, combing in everything. The farmer trudged round about, too, and occasionally beckoned for the rake, and occasionally stooped and gathered a few windles and rolled them into a ball to toss on the load. Then the last forkful was thrown up and the load was tidied down with a hand-rake.
“It’s a podgy beggar. Best have a rope,” said Mr. Nadin.
“Nay, chance it,” said Clem, sliding on to Colonel’s saddle. “There’s plenty of us with it. We con hold it on wi’ the forks.”
Out the cart lurched, leaving a final handful on the gate stump. Flo had been told to follow, but the rake was wider than the cart.
“We’ll ha’ ta wangle,” said Mr. Nadin. Gently he drew Mike on till the off wheel was through, then together he and Flo lifted and tugged the thing sideways.
“Thank God for that!” said the farmer, as he hooked the gate. “It’s bin a bad time, but we’ve managed.”