NEVER in all my days did I see a corn harvest like that one. We
started swiving, that is reaping, at the beginning of August-month, and
we left the stocks standing in the fields till it should be time for the
love-carriage, for the weather was so fine that they took no harm. It
was the custom, if a farmer hadna much strength about him, that he
should fix on a day for the neighbours to come and give a hand in the
lugging of the grain. But up to that time, the weather being so good, we
worked alone. It was up in the morning early, and no mistake! Such
mornings as they were, too, with a strong heady sweetness in the air
from the ripened corn, and the sun coming up stately as a swan into the
vasty sky that had no cloud. Mother was very peärt and lively, what with
the hot weather, which was good for the rheumatics, and the thought of
the easing-off of the work which was to come when the harvest was gotten
in. She’d be up and about at five, getting us our breakfast, and then
off we’d go, with only just enough of clo’es on to be decent, and with
our wooden harvest bottles full of small beer. We always had a brewing
for the rep, that is, the reaping. This year we brewed a deal more, for
there’d be all the neighbours to find in victuals and drink at the
love-carriage. Looking back, it always seems to me that there was a kind
of dwelling charm on all that time. Gideon was more contented than I’ve
ever seen him, for there were two things that contented him, namely, to
work till he dropped, and to finish what he set out to do. To see all
his farm set with these rich stooks, sound and ripe, with never a sign
of the weevil nor of mildew nor the smut, was very life to him. He was
all of a fever to get it safe in stack, but we were bound to wait till
the day fixed. Jancis was to come on that day, to help in the leasing.
And it seemed to me as she ought to go atop of the last load with
blossoms about her, like the image they were used to set up there, for
she seemed a part of the harvest, with all that pink and gold.
As for me, I went all dazed and dumb with wonder. To think it was true.
“The Maister be come!” To think as he’d looked at me and hadna hated me!
To think as all that time we spent in the midst of the painted
dragon-flies by the mere was true, as true as daily bread! When I called
to mind the things he’d said, and still more the things he’d looked, I
was like to swound. Dear to goodness, how I did sing, those early dawns,
when the dews lay heavy after a ketch of frost, and the corn rustled and
stirred in the wind of morning!
When we went out, the leaves of the late-blooming white clover would be
folded tight, and the shepherd’s hour-glass shut. I’d watch them, in the
minutes I took for rest, opening soft and slow like timid hearts. Then
Mother would come with our nooning, creeping over the fields in her
black like a little sad-coloured bird, and sometimes singing _Barley
Bridge_ in her old, small voice, that yet was sweet. Then, after the
noon-spell, through the long, blazing evening, (for with us all the time
after noon is calling evening) I’d watch the shepherd’s hour-glass
shutting up again, and the white clover leaves, folding as the dews
came. We took turns to go whome and milk, then we’d have our tea in the
field, and at it again. All the while I thought of Kester, as would soon
be working at the coloured weaving in the great city. But when my heart
said he was working for me as well as hisself, I hushed it, saying that
it was but his flaming look that made me think it, for he hadna said it,
and so it was only that the wish fathered the thought. But I did dream
of the fifty pounds I was to have, a great fortune, it seemed. And I did
plan how I’d get to be cured as quick as might be, so when Kester came
back after his time away I’d stand afore him with as proper a face as
even Felena, though I hoped not so forrard.
At last the day of the love-carriage came, and a tremendous blue day it
was, with a sky like a dark bowl, Worcester china colour. We’d got fifty
people coming, no less, counting the women-folk. I was up afore dawn
getting all ready, setting the china, both ours and what we’d borrowed,
on the trestles in the orchard, helping Gideon to put the casks of beer
in the yard, ready for the men to fill their harvest bottles, and
fetching water from the well for the tea. The orchard was a sight to see
when the trestles were set out (for I could put all ready with no fear
of rain on such a day) with the mugs and platters of many colours, and
the brown quartern loaves, and the big pats of butter stamped with a
swan, and the slabs of honeycomb, dough cakes, gingerbread, cheese, jam
and jelly, let alone the ham at one end of each trestle and the round of
beef at the other. Even Gideon didna begrutch the food on this day. For
it was one of the laws you couldna break, that at a love-carriage
everybody must have his bellyful.
It was very early when the waggons began to roll into the fold, with a
solemn gladsome sound, and each with its own pair of horses or oxen.
Each farmer brought his own men and his own waggon, and sometimes he
brought two. The teams were decked out with ribbons and flowers, and
some had a motto as well, such as, “Luck to our Day,” or “God bless the
Corn.” It was a fine thing to see the big horses, with great manes on
their fetlocks, groomed till they shone like satin, stepping along as
proud as Lucifer, knowing very well how long the waggoner had been,
a-plaiting their ribbons. The oxen were good to see also, for their
horns were all bedecked, and about their necks were thick chains of
Sweet William and Travellers’ Joy and corn. Miller came among the first,
with his gig and the old coach horse, the best he had, poor man. And
very good work they did, too, for it’s surprising what a deal you can
get onto a gig if you put a set of wings on top.
It was time for me to go and give the folks welcome, so I got Miller’s
Tim to mind the trestles, and left him with a big meat patty, sitting at
the top of one of the tables, with half the patty in one cheek, ready to
drive away birds and cats and dogs, and even goblins out of fairyland,
after the patty. The ox-driver from Plash had dizened his beasts up
proper, with bulrushes nodding on their horns, and there were Sukey and
Moll each riding one. Their mother wasna coming till late, and they were
wild as mountain finches. Then came Felena, riding the shepherd’s rough
pony, with the panniers to put her leasings in. When I saw those green
eyes of hers shining like jewels in her brown face, all flushed with
summer, and the long, slim shoulders of her, and that red mouth, I
almost hoped Kester would forget to come after all. Missis Beguildy and
Jancis came, but Beguildy wouldna. The cousin from Lullingford that got
the toothache so bad came, and his missus. Then there were Callards, all
packed in a great harvest wain, and a net over the five children, so
that they looked for all the world like little calves on the way to
market. Granfeyther Callard sat by his son, dressed out in his best
snuff-coloured coat, and his beaver hat, for all it was so hot. There
was a posy in his hat, which he waved like a lad as they came creaking
in at the fold gate, shouting—
“Harroost! Harroost! Never was such God A’mighty’s weather!”
He always said harroost, it being the old way of saying harvest. Then
came Sexton, tall and black, a bit sour, but the best man of his age
with a pikel anywhere round. Missis Sexton had a vast apron of blue
gingham, with pockets, for leasing, and it made her look bigger than
ever. It did seem a blasphemy to speak of her leasing, as if Solomon in
all his glory had put on an apron and gathered up the ears.
Tivvy was dressed out very grand, as often was the way of girls at such
“_dos_” as this, for a “_do_” was a thing that came but seldom, and
where else but church, where all but bonnets was swallowed by the pew,
could you show your gown with the flounces, or your gown that was cut
low?
Tivvy had a straw bonnet with quilled muslin under, a sprigged gown cut
low with a rose at the breast, white stockings and new black
sandal-shoes. Jancis was pretty past telling in her blue poplin and a
sunbonnet, and Sukey and Moll had tight frocks of white cotton with red
roses sprinkled on them.
The Callard children ran about like a clutch of chickens when you empty
’em out of the basket, but Miller’s Tim was as mim as a mute, feeling so
grand to be trusted with all the feast to mind. Missis Miller and Polly,
I may say, came first of all, and there was Miller’s man as well, and
Sexton’s Sammy, a queer, long lad like an eel, with twice as many teeth
as he wanted, and a power of texts in his head that ud fly out at you on
every excuse, and hit you like a startle-de-buz will on a summer
evening. It seemed as if all the texts his dad had ever read had lodged
in his big head, and so he’d always got one pat.
“Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest to send down labourers into
His harvest,” he says. But the publican from the _Mug o’ Cider_, whose
missus was looking after the bar so he could come, Gideon being like to
be a good customer in the future, catched him up very quick.
“Dunna begin the prayers till I’ve had a quart, lad,” he says, “for they
might be answered, you being Sexton’s lad, and I’m welly parched.”
The men gathered together by the beer barrels, and as more came, they
went and got their beer. Towler came, and shepherd, Felena’s maister, a
tall, brown man, all bones, striding with his long kibba, which is a
stick of six foot or so, to walk with, held about the middle.
“Well, shepherd!” pipes up Granfeyther Callard, “han you seed the sun
dance yet, Easter morning, on thy mountain?”
Shepherd took no notice, for being with the dumb sheep so much, he was
pretty near as silent as the miller, though not quite, for nobody could
be. But the father of Moll and Sukey said—
“Nay, but ’tis his missus sees the moon dance, midsummer as we know
well.”
“When she dances with the devil!” screeched Sukey.
“And not the devil only,” says Missis Sexton.
Felena didna seem to care. She was standing by me, and she whispered
that she’d liefer dance, whoever it was with, and be jimp and souple,
than be as stiff as a tombstone like Missis Sexton.
“She brought him up into the high place of Baal, Numbers twenty-two,”
said Sammy. And after that there didna seem anything more to say about
it.
Gideon came up to settle each man’s work, and he looked right well in
his nice clean smock, well broidered, with the sleeves rolled up to show
his great arms, and a pikel over shoulder.
“Now, Gaffer!” pipes up old Callard. “What bin ’e going to give I to
do?”
“You shall go atop of the waggon I sarve,” says Sexton, “if ye promise
to take as quick as I chuck.”
There was a laugh, for nobody ever liked the job of settling the sheaves
Sexton heaved, he being the quickest heaver anywhere round, and never
tiring.
“Oh,” says Mug o’ Cider, “we’ll put you on the leader of the foremost
waggon for a lucky image, wunna we, lads? You can holler _Haw-woop!_ and
_Jiggin!_ and be a sight more use than any of us.”
The old man took this as a great compliment, and nought would do but his
son must help him up there and then.
“Well, lads,” says Gideon, “we’d best be shifting if we’re to bring the
harvest whome this day.”
“Harroost! Harroost!” calls out old Callard. “_Haw-whop!_”
Obedient to the word, the lead-horse went forrard, and all the waggons
and carts moved slow past the house. Mother stood on the door-sill,
nodding and smiling, and saying—
“Thank you for us, I’m sure! My son Sarn’ll be obleeged to ye.”
So we went out under the blue sky to lug home the corn, the big waggons
with solid wheels rolling over the stubble, Granfeyther Callard shouting
“_Jiggin!_” when he meant “_Haw-woop!_” being quite tipsy with
enjoyment, and causing a great confusion, the horses not knowing what to
do. The rest of us followed on, strung out over the fields in bright
colours, children and dogs running hither and thither, while in the
rickyard the men told off to make the stacks put the logs in place ready
for the stacks to be built on, got all prepared against the first waggon
came back loaded high with grain, and then stood leaning on their
pikels, talking over the work of the coming day, each man as busy about
the planning of it all as if the harvest was his’n, and each man as glad
of the grain as if he was to have the selling of it. For that was the
manner of the love-carriages in time past.
In the noon-spell I went up to the high pasture, to see if there was any
sign of Kester. He was coming across the far meadows, by a field path,
and I stayed so long watching him, who was all the world to me, that
they’d started work again afore I went back. It was a pretty thing to
see, in such a place, on such a day. The farm being all under corn now,
it looked like a boss of gold in the dark woods and meadows around. And
all the bright colours of the women’s gowns, the creamy smocks and a
tuthree coloured shirts of the men, the shining horses and deep-coloured
oxen, the yellow stooks with blue shadows under, the towering yellow
loads on the wains, made up such a picture as you wunna often see in a
lifetime, anyway in these days.
It was merry to hear, also. The voices rang so sweet in the thin, still
air. I could hear old Callard’s “_Haw-woop!_” and “_Jiggin!_” and the
other men’s shouts, and Jancis laughing out high and sweet at summat
Gideon did say, and the children crying out, “Mother, I’ve gotten two
pinnies full now!” “Mam, I’ve found six ears together!” From the
rickyard came the far calls of the rickmakers, and, times, a pigeon
cooed in the deep woods, where the mere lay like glass, and, times, a
jay would scold, or a woodpecker laugh out. Never a cloud was in the
sky, nor any hint of trouble in the little airs that stirred in the
leavy hedges. And there, two fields off, one field off, and now in the
same field, was the man I could never think about but in those words,
“The Maister be come.”
From a long way off he saw me, and waved his hat, so that the
well-shapen head I did love was bare, with the dark hair just so upon
it, that you must long to stroke it.
I came down from the high pasture and stood beside Gideon’s waggon,
knowing that Kester would come to get his orders from the maister of the
day.
There was some chaff, Kester being so late.
“Weaver’s forgot the day and come to-morrow instead!”
“Dunna be so forrard, Weaver, come on Plough Monday!”
“He bin late, but he bin full of power and might and young blood,” said
old Callard, for nobody of that family would ever hear a word against
Kester.
“The last shall be fust, and the fust last, Matthew twenty,” says Sammy.
“Luck to the day, Gaffer!” Kester called to Gideon.
“And thank you kind for coming,” answers Gideon.
“What be I to do?”
“Ever done any harvesting?”
“Ah.”
“Can ye pitch?”
“Ah.”
“Well then, you take my place a bit while I go the rounds, oot? Sexton’s
tother side from you, and he’s a terrible quick pitcher. But you canna
be too quick for young Callard and Towler.”
“But mind not to push pikel too fur when the load be low,” called old
Callard, “for I mind once a fellow did that, and he stuck it right into
the chap atop. Ah! like a piece of toast on toasting-fork he was, poor
fellow, and hollered so that the team bolted, ooth the pikel still in.”
But Kester did very well and made toast of none. His eyes would laugh at
me now and again, and once, when the empty waggon tarried, he came where
I was leasing, and said—
“You still go frommet me a bit, I see, Prue Sarn. It mun be toerts, not
frommet.”