The next morning, Mr. Mansfield asked the little boys if they were disposed for a walk. Arthur replied that he should like it very much; but Charles said he would rather stay at home with his grandmamma; accordingly they set off without him.
“What pretty purple flowers grow in that field!” observed Arthur, when they had proceeded a little way. “Pray, grandpapa, what are they?”
“That is a field of clover,” replied Mr. Mansfield; “and it will soon be cut for hay.”
Arthur. I never saw such pretty hay as that.
Grandpapa. Oh, there will be no beauty in it. On the contrary, it looks much coarser and browner than what is made of common grass, which is called meadow hay.
Arthur. What becomes of the flowers then?
Grandpapa. They dry and wither away. You do not suppose they would live when cut down. Did you ever see how hay is made?
Arthur. Yes, a great many times. A number of men and women go into a field and turn the grass, and then they put it into cocks, and afterwards make a stack of it.
Grandpapa. Why do they do all that?