Over the ocean, low down on the horizon, lay a bank of fog. The mowers noticed this, and Raner remarked, “It may lay there all day, or it may clear away an’ be gone when the sun gits higher and the day warmer.”
“Thar’s no tellin’ nuthin’ ’bout what it’ll do, you’d better say,” replied Josh, with a laugh.
All along they had feared the wind would fail them when well over under the Beach. But it continued to blow; and in as good season as the mowers had hoped, they reached the meadows. Josh stood forward, anchor in hand, and jumping ashore, walked the full length of the cable and planted the anchor deep in the soft meadow soil. The old sail was quickly furled, and the three mowers, with scythes and traps, set out for Arter’s lot. Raner led the way, carrying, besides his scythe, a rake and hammer and wedges to hang anew the scythes, if need were. Layn was almost abreast of him, managing with some difficulty his scythe, a pitchfork, and a runlet of water; while Josh followed a short distance behind with the jug. Watching his chance, he lifted the jug and stole a draught.
“Le’ me see,” said Raner, approaching the place of their day’s work. “Accordin’ to the last division, the stake o’ every lot stands on the west side, an’ the numberin’s on the east side o’ the stake.”
A little examination showed which Arter’s lot was, and then Raner said, “We’ll strike in here.”
This was not the order to begin cutting, but for those immediate preparations which can be made nowhere else than on the exact spot. And so there followed driving of heel-wedges, twisting and ranging of blade with handle, stretching out of the foot to determine whether the scythe-point was too far out or too close in, and last, a stroke in the grass for final approval.
“We’re all ready, then, be we?” asked Raner. “Well, I’ll lead. Josh, you come arter me; an’ Layn’ll be last;” and getting into position, the lusty mowers struck their swaths. Regularly the graceful strokes fell, succeeded by the hitching step forward.
“Ah! my scythe’s doin’ purty work, I tell you,” remarked Raner. “How does your’n cut, Layn?”
“Royally.”