“It bain’t much of a hand what you’ll be lendin’, Sally; I d’ ’low your arms won’t reach much further nor a child’s.”
“You’ll soon see that,” returned Sally valiantly; then, smiling up at Joe, she continued, “I d’ ’low a woman bain’t fit for much if she can’t take her husband’s place now an’ again when he be laid by the heels. How’s that to start wi’?”
She drove the prongs of her fork into the nearest haycock, and adroitly tossed a goodly truss to Joe, who proceeded to spread and trample it after the recognised fashion. “Now then, here’s another.”
Sally’s fork went backwards and forwards with so much speed and energy that Joe presently pleaded for mercy, announcing that she was ready for him before he could get ready for she.
But Bill laughed sardonically. “It be all very well now the wain be near empty. Bide a bit till the load do begin to grow.”
As the hay mounted higher and higher, indeed, in response to the combined efforts of himself and Mrs Crumpler, the poor little creature found the work more difficult to accomplish. She made strenuous efforts, holding her pitchfork at its extreme end, tossing the hay with all her strength, even jumping occasionally; but over and over again the truss tumbled down from her fork before she could cast it into its allotted place.
“I d’ ’low ye’ll have to give in,” said Joe, gazing down at her from his eminence.
“I ’on’t then!” said Sally; and then she burst into tears. “I can’t!” she explained between her sobs. “If I can’t do Jarge’s work the maister ’ull turn en off. He said so. Here, I’ll try again.”
“Nay now, nay now,” said Joe, “ye mid have the best ’eart in the world yet yer arms midden’t be no longer. Tell ’ee what—ye can be rakin’ the stuff together, while me and Bill do finish this lot, an’ when we do bring the waggon back ye can take my place on it.”
Sally dropped the apron with which she had been wiping her eyes, and thanked him gratefully; then, exchanging her fork for a wooden rake, she turned energetically to her new task.