He bit his lip vexedly. Turning away from her he called to the haymakers:
"That'll do, boys! Fetch Roger, and haul in!"
The sun was nearing the western horizon and a deep apricot glow warmed the mown field and the undulating foliage in the far distance. The men began to scatter here and there, putting aside their long wooden rakes, and two of them went off to bring Roger, the cart-horse, from his shed.
"Uncle Hugo!"
The old man, who still sat impassively on the beer-barrel, looked up.
"Ay! What is it?"
"Are you coming along with us?"
Uncle Hugo shook his head despondently.
"Why not? It's the last load this year!"
"Ay!" He lifted his straw hat and waved it in a kind of farewell salute towards the waggon, repeating mechanically: "The last load! The very last!"