The sun shone brightly and dried the clover. The breezes blew over it and dried it. Together they changed it from fresh grass into sweet-smelling hay.
The next day, John hitched Daisy to the hay-rake and drove it up and down the field, raking the hay into long windrows.
The hired men came with their pitchforks and pitched it into little stacks or haycocks.
But they were all careful not to touch the little patches of clover where the flags flew.
People driving along the road wondered why Farmer Hill had left the three little patches of clover standing and why the three little flags were there.
But the three little mother birds knew and were happy.
