But the time had come for cutting the clover.
One morning, Bobby saw Father and Hobson in the tool-shed and went to see what they were doing. He found them busy about the mowing-machine—oiling it, tightening the screws and sharpening the knives.
"Oh, Father, you aren't going to cut the grass now, are you?" said Bobby.
"Yes," said Father, "the clover is ready."
"I wish it could be left all Summer," said Bobby.
"But we must cut it," said Farmer Hill, "to make hay for the horses and cows to eat next Winter."
When the mower was ready, they hitched Prince and Daisy to it, and Father climbed to the seat and drove to the hayfield.
As the mower went around the field, it cut a wide swath of clover and left it lying flat on the ground.
A humming sound the mower made, a pleasant sound to a person some distance away, a very loud sound to one near by.
In one of the nests in the field, there was a mother bird and three young birds. The little mother bird, there in the quiet clover field, had never heard such a loud sound before.