It was a handsome meadow; the ground high and rolling, the grass waving in the distance, a cornfield on the right, a hilly pasture on the left, and a green grove still further to the south. The old clergyman stood in the midst of the orchard trees, admiring the picture, until Mr. Royden, uttering some pleasant jest, swung his scythe into the tall grass, followed by the two hired men and Chester in regular succession, at each other's heels.
Father Brighthopes found a fork by the orchard fence, and went to help James spread hay. Having gone once across the field with one of Chester's light swaths, he took off his coat, and hung it upon the fence by the pasture; having gone back again, he removed his vest; and one more turn brought off his neckcloth.
"You go to work like an old farmer," cried Mr. Royden, coming out with his swath, and shouldering his scythe.
"Yes," said Father Brighthopes, cheerily; "I ought to, at least, for I was bred a farmer's boy, and now I am old, sure enough."
"Well, I would advise you to take it easy."
"I mean to; risk me for that!"
"But there is danger of your hurting yourself before you think of it," said the careful farmer.
The clergyman thanked him for the kind warning, and stopped to pick some berries in the corner of the fence. Mr. Royden waited for the other mowers to get out.
"Chester," said he, "you don't point out well. Carry your scythe a little lower as you bring it around. There! You will make a famous mower, with practice," he added, encouragingly. "Don't try to cut too wide a swath."
At that moment James was heard to utter a loud shout, and, looking up, Mr. Royden saw him running at full speed towards the pasture fence.