But Russ, Rose and the others watched Adam, Farmer Joel, their father, and the two hired men dig their shiny pitchforks deep into a hay cock. Sometimes two men, each with a fork, would lift almost a whole cock up on the wagon at once. When one man did it alone he took about half the cock at a time.
As the hay was loaded on the wagon, which was fitted with a rick, going over the wheels, the pile of dried grass on the vehicle became higher and higher. So high it was, at last, that the men could hardly pitch hay up on it.
“I guess we’ll call this a load,” said Farmer Joel, as he looked up at the sky. “The road is a bit rough and if we put on too much we’ll have an upset. Adam, I think you’re right,” he went on. “We’ll have thunder showers this afternoon. Have to hustle, boys, to get the hay in!”
When the horses were ready to haul the first load back to the barn, to be stored away in the mow, the six little Bunkers were put up on top of the load to ride.
“Oh, this is lovely!” cried Rose.
“Like being on a hundred feather beds!” added Russ.
“And you don’t feel the jounces at all!” added Laddie, for as the wagon went over rough places in the field the children were only gently bounced up and down, and not shaken about as they would have been had there been no hay on the wagon.
But the rough field caused one little accident which, however, harmed no one.
The first load of hay was almost out of the field when, as it approached the bars, Mun Bun suddenly yelled:
“I’m slippin’! I’m slippin’!”