“Oh! oh!” she murmured, when we reached the barn and went in through a little door that was set in a big door. “Oh! smell the hay, mamma.”
I stared about me. Away up in the air was the top of the big building. There was hay up there—not very much of it, but enough to make a good smell.
“This is the hay that they cut from the meadow,” said Mary. “Oh! I hope they will bring in some more to-day.”
Mrs. Denville smiled at her. “Mary dear, I am not much of a farmer, but I know more than you do. That is last year's hay. The men have not begun to cut this year's grass. When they do, this big barn will be crammed with it, from the floor up to those little windows in the peak.”
“Then I shall see them,” remarked Mary in an ecstasy. “I shall be able to watch the men cutting the grass and putting it in the wagons, and perhaps I can ride on top. Oh! say I can, mamma.”
“Certainly, dear, if your father consents. Now let us see what is in this room,” and Mrs. Denville opened a door.
I drew back, for as she opened the door, the cat Thummie sprang out. However, I had no cause for fright, for Thummie went up a ladder like a flash, and disappeared among the hay.
“This is the granary,” said Mrs. Denville, “how neat it is,” and she glanced approvingly about her.
The floor was swept and clean, and there were rows of things like big boxes against the wall.
“These are bins,” explained Mrs. Denville to Mary. “After the grain is thrashed it is put in here. See, this is some kind of coarse flour—I don't know the name,” and as she lifted the cover of the big box she looked about her as if seeking information.