"It is going to rain, father," cried James, from the top of the load.
"Drive on," answered the farmer, pitching on the last of a large hay-cock.
Father Brighthopes scratched up the few remaining wisps with his rake, and followed along the wagon-track.
While Mr. Royden and James were transferring the load from the rick to the growing stack in the midst of the meadow, the old man lay upon the grass in the shade to rest. He heard a footstep, and, looking up, saw Mark Wheeler approaching.
"Do you think it is going to rain?" asked the jockey, talking up to Mr. Royden.
"I should not be surprised if we had a shower this evening," replied the farmer, heaving up a heavy forkful to James. "I don't think those clouds will touch us yet a while."
"I can help you just as well as not, if you think there is any danger," rejoined Mark.
"Very well," said Mr. Royden. "It's always safe to be beforehand. If you're a mind to take hold, and help the boys get the hay that's down into shape, I'll do as much for you, some time."
"I owe you work, I believe," replied Mark, throwing off his vest. "Are you going to pitch on to the load out of the win'row?"
"Yes; unless there comes up a shower. If it looks like it, you'll have to get the hay into cocks the quickest way you can."