It would be difficult to determine which made the most noise, the geese, or Lewis Dormer, for they screamed in concert, and were joined by the turkies; and though the peacock did not attempt to assist his neighbours, yet he added his note to increase the clamour.
The noise did not fail to reach the ears of the party in the meadow, who came quickly up to the barley-field. Mr. Richmond jumped over the stile, and drove the geese away with his stick, and they retired hissing and screaming to a little distance, while Lewis, with tears in his eyes, ran to his mother, and related the bad behaviour of the turkies and geese; declaring at the same time that he wished his uncle would not keep such ill-tempered creatures, for he hated them all.
"And yet, Lewis does not dislike roasted goose for dinner," said his father, "and I have seen him eat turkey at Christmas."
"Yes; but roasted geese never hurt me," said Lewis, rubbing his leg.
"Will you go back, and wait till your leg is better?" said Mrs. Dormer.
"Do, dear Lewis," said his cousin Kate; "and I will stay with you, and we can look at the pictures in the great parlour."
But Lewis, who did not relish the thoughts of returning to the house at all, thanked his cousin, and said his leg was getting better; indeed, he was in a few minutes the foremost in a race that William and Mary were engaged in, and scampered along as if nothing had happened.
They soon reached the harvest-field, where the men were busily employed in loading and carrying the wheat. Here every thing was alive and bustling: the men all looked cheerful and gay; some whistled or sung as they worked, and others talked of the pleasures to be enjoyed at the expected harvest-home supper.
"Here is our good master coming, my boys," cried the men on the loaded waggon to those below.
"Well, my lads," said Mr. Richmond, as he drew near, "when am I to prepare this harvest-supper for you?"