By-and-by the waggon went creaking out of the field, and presently returned empty, whereupon Mrs Crumpler proudly clambered up on it. Her goodwill and energy were certainly unfailing; nevertheless, she presently discovered that something more was required for the successful loading of a waggon. It was very difficult to spread the hay evenly, and, trample as she might, she could not get it to lie as firmly as when Joe was in possession.
When Farmer Ellery rode round, he paused for quite a long while watching her operations, and though Sally worked feverishly hard, and feigned to take no notice of him, her heart beat so fast that she could scarcely breathe, and when he presently called her by name, she gave such a start that she dropped her pitchfork.
“I don’t think this job is altogether in your line, Mrs Crumpler,” said the farmer.
Sally timidly raised her eyes to his face, but could make nothing of it, half-hidden as it was by his great brown beard.
“I bain’t gettin’ on so very bad, thank ’ee, sir,” she answered, curtseying as well as she could on top of her load. “I’ll—I’ll be able to manage better with a little more practice.”
“Yes, and while you’re practising my hay will be sliding about all over the field,” he rejoined gruffly. “You’d best get down again and give up your place to Joe.”
Mrs Crumpler meekly slid to the ground, and came up to the farmer, remarking with an ingratiating smile which belied her anxious eyes, “I d’ ’low I’m best at rakin’.”
“I d’ ’low you are. But you undertook to fill George’s place. I don’t pay George for doing boy’s work.”
Mrs Crumpler cogitated with a troubled face for a moment, and then her brow cleared.
“I could come two days for Jarge’s one,” she cried triumphantly. “’Tis to be hoped he’ll be all right to-morrow and able to do his work, but I’ll come up this way, sir, if ye’ll let me.”