The Farm by the Lake полностью

But she didn’t. Her shoulders and shoulder-blades were sore so that she could not lie easy. As she turned about she remembered what the fat woman had said in the train so long ago about farming: “All work an’ no play, hand all the mucky work . . . God help you.” Only somehow the memory made Flo smile, and she cuddled her hands in the flannel of her nightdress between her thighs and after that remembered no more till she woke with the first show of dawn light over Moss Edge. She came awake gradually, and only after a long interval realized that for some reason she felt strangely happy. There was a pleasant gurgling tinkle from somewhere. Then all at once she understood; it was rain on the roof, in the gutters just outside the open window, in the down-spouts. And this was the cause of her happiness! It was guilty happiness, but rain meant rest. Her tired body had realized it even before she had come properly awake. She would have time to recover. Her hands were already a bit better. Oh, she was thankful; but she knew that Mr. wouldn’t be!

And now it was the last day of the hay-making. It was Saturday again. A fortnight of hard but intermittent work had been done. Flo had got used to it. The skin of her hands had adapted itself and her arms and shoulders had grown accustomed to the strains. She was glad to be working this day for all the fishermen, the “regulars”, had turned up, but instead of going out on the lake, they, also, were helping. There was the very tall, round-faced one with the big wart on his nose, and the bald man, and the younger sandy-haired man who was fond of singing to Dot at the piano, and there was the silly young man of whom Flo had once been scared. But to-day she was not scared of any of them. The silly young man was put on the stack to do Flo’s job and she saw him looking at his hands and she knew the reason and smiled to herself. The carts were coming from Square Piece, which was beyond Charlie Meadow, looking into the little valley at the head of the lagoon. It was a longer way, but with the extra help the loads came at about the same intervals.

There were two stacks, both immense, nearly as big as the barn. Mr. Nadin called Flo to him. He looked down and said he had a spare horse coming and that she was to go raking.

“We’ll get in everythin’ while we con an’ leave the field tidy.”

“When will it come? Do I have to fetch it?” asked Flo, thinking it wight be a horse from Willox’s.

“He said ’e’d be here at three; ’e couldna come sooner. It’s Jack Knight . . . he’ll come up on th’ stack an’ help me.”

“Oh,” said Flo with gladness.

“You’ll manage his hoss all right,” said the farmer, as though she had been doubtful.

She ran back to the house to do all that she could, for it was already a quarter to three.

“They want me raking,” she told Mrs. Nadin.

“What, you an’ all! He’d have everybody i’ Mossdyche, ay an’ in Moss, too!” exclaimed Mrs. Nadin; yet she did not object further. “We seem t’ave bin haymekkin’ six months; happen ’e’ll finish sometime.”

“I hope so,” said Dot. “Life’s not worth living.”

While Flo loaded the tray, taking as many pots at a time to the cabin as she could to save work later, she listened eagerly, but the old clock whirred and chimed and struck three, and chimed again before hoofs and the trundle of a float was heard.

“That’s him. May I go?”

“Who’s ’im?” demanded Mrs. Nadin, glancing with sharp eyes.

“Jack Knight; I’m to use his horse,” said Flo.

“Ho!” exclaimed Mrs. Nadin. “I think I’ll go misen; I reckon I could drive that tit.”

“He said I was to go,” protested Flo.

“An’ dunna you think he’ll ha’ me?”

“Yes . . . yes,” said Flo, confused. “Bu . . . but I didn’t think you’d do it.”

“You dunna know what I’ll do,” and the little woman drew the knife very straight and quickly across the tin of Quaker-oat “flap-jacks” which she was cutting into strips. “You’re non interested in Jack ’issel’, by any chance?”

“Why? No,” said Flo.

“Noo, I thought not,” said Mrs. Nadin with a disbelieving chuckle. “There’s noo wenches as ever was interested in lads . . . ta hear ’em talk. But they aw mek fools o’ themsel’s an’ get wed.”

“May I go?” asked Flo, feeling red.

“Ay, but keep your eye on th’ rakin’, or you’ll happen rake up more than you want,” warned Mrs. Nadin cryptically.

Flo ran out and found Jack unhooking. They had not met since the show though Flo had seen him occasionally driving along the lane. He let down the shafts of the float without looking, yet he knew her for he said, “Oh, yes . . . how now?”

Mike stared slowly round, looking old and wise in his baggy blinkers like an owl. Flo stroked his nose and his lower lip drooped in a friendly way.

“Dunna let ’im run off,” said Jack, “an’ dunna drive him into the lake. He’s the on’y horse I have.”

“If I can drive Colonel, I can drive him,” said Flo.

“I dunno.” His pale blue eyes met her’s. “It isna the biggest horses as is always the awkwardest.”

“I’ll manage him.”