Then, as they finished, the weather relented and let the clouds be driven away by a cool wind from the south-east. After the second day it was considered fit to begin to mow in Charlie Meadow, the eleven acres, and Flo was sent to follow the mower again. The meadow sloped to the left of the lane, where it ran beside the lake. Flo saw Dick Goldbourn by the water, but she was too busy to think much about him. After a while he reeled in and came to the gate and watched the circling machine. He waved and Flo briefly shook her wooden rake in acknowledgement, but somehow she did not feel that she wanted to go near him. He wheeled himself to where Bert was mowing by the hedge and Bert leaned on the curved pole of his scythe and talked for ten minutes. Flo expected Mr. Nadin to shout at him, but the farmer went on shaking out at the south corner where the swaths lay thick on one another. Flo had expected him to be more impatient than he had been the first time in the hay, but he seemed not to bother, to have become resigned. She could not understand and felt that it was rather sad. The urgency, of which she had been so conscious during her first days of hay-making, was now not to be felt at all. Through so long waiting they had become stale; the work had become drudgery to the rest, though to her it was still exciting. She liked following the mower, watching the falling grass. She decided to ask Jack, next time she saw him, if he had ever done that job and whether it had fascinated him. She wondered when he would be coming again; she had not seen him since the show.
Day after day the cool wind kept on, making the men work in their jackets and Dot and Flo in scarves. But the grass dried quickly. It had not the colour of the first grass in Lake Meadow, but was much longer, lots of it over two feet, and heavy. There were few flowers left in and scarcely any pollen dust when the swaths were turned or shaken.
“But it’s hay. It’ll fill their guts . . . an’ there’s plenty of it. It’ll make up for some of what we lost in Lake Meadow,” said Clem while they rested the horses. He brought up his pipe from his side-pocket and filled and lit it and looked at Flo contemplatively. “By gum,” he exclaimed unexpectedly, “done you know, you’ve filled out sin’ you come here? You’re gettin’ a shape like Venus.”
“Hadn’t we better get on?” asked Flo coldly, moving a step farther from him.
“You’re doin’ all right,” he commented, still appraising her as though she were in the ring at auction. “I’ve bin out wi’ lots worse than you.”
“Well, you’re not going out with me,” said Flo flatly. “I’m particular . . . an’ I’ve somebody else,” she added, and then felt surprised at herself.
“Oh, by gad,” said Clem, spitting, “you’ve started, eh? Who is it?”
“Mind your own affairs,” she retorted, though she knew that she had asked for it. “It’s time we got on.”
“The hell it is.” His tobacco had gone out and he jabbed it down safe in the bowl with his little finger and then put the pipe back in his pocket. “Oh, so that’s it, eh? I mun have mi eye on you. If it’s one o’ the lads from town, you’ll ha’ ta keep spry.” He chuckled meaningly and slowly hitched his thigh over the spring seat and shook the rope lines with a loud and threatening, “Get yer!” The machine jerked off with a harsh chatter and Flo was thankful.
Week-end came and the hay was judged to be ready. The first load was brought home just after eleven. Flo had been kept in to help in preparing for the afternoon’s expected guests, but she saw the great untidy load rocking past the gate to go in behind the barn where the stacks were to be made. Mr. Nadin came after the cart, but instead of going past he turned into the yard and tramped up to the house and planted himself in the doorway.
“We conna manage ’bout her; she’s got ta come,” he announced dourly, and with a jerk of his thick thumb he summoned Flo from the sink.
“And how the heck do I manage, you old fool?” demanded Mrs. Nadin; but he was going away and gave no sign of having heard. “If ’e had the sense of a louse an’ could wait, ’e’d have as much help as ’e con use an’ more,” grumbled Mrs. Nadin to Flo; and then unexpectedly, “Well, you heard what he said.”
Flo ran out, drying her hands on her brown sacking apron. Behind the barn a kind of rectangular platform had been made of logs and branches which was now being clothed with the first round of hay. Bert was rolling it off the load in great shaggy balls and already there was a mound there below.
“Way up, give ’er a chance,” ordered the farmer morosely, and passed her a pikel to throw the hay where he wanted it. She dug in energetically and was shocked at the weight.
“You’re non Samson; you’ll non lift it all at once,” said Bert. “Tek it in bits . . . off the top.”