“Woaght! whoa!” shouted Jabez, drawing up among the hay. “This be it; the prongs be in the ditch.”
When they had descended, he went to the hawthorn bush, pulled out some prongs, and then scrambled up into the waggon himself. “Now then, you lards and gennelmen, one on ’ee get each side, and pitch up thaay wakes (ridges of hay put ready for the purpose of loading), and mind as you doan’t stick your farks into I. The wimmen—I means the ladies—wull rake behind, and paason can help um—th’ rakes be hung on th’ hedge. Now, bailie, look arter them ’osses.”
Though hay looks light and easy to lift, yet when the fork has gathered a goodly bundle, to hoist it high overhead, and continue the operation, is really heavy labour. Valentine was physically a smaller made man than Geoffrey, whose broad shoulders had also been developed both by athletic exercise at home and by work in Australia—work done from choice, not necessity. But though smaller, Valentine was extremely tough, wiry, and nimble, as is often the case with gentlemen who “fancy” horses. Quick in his movements, he caught the knack of “pitching” almost immediately. He hastily flung up his “wake” as far as the horse in the shafts, and then walked to the rear of the waggon where Margaret was raking, leaving Geoffrey still engaged.
Margaret and May were looking at a nest of harvest-trows, as the tiny mice are called that breed in the grass. Valentine began to talk about his horses, knowing Margaret was fond of animals, and said that a “string” of his would pass Greene Ferne in the evening en route to his stables. Now Geoffrey, glancing back, saw the group apparently in earnest conversation from which he was excluded; and noting Margaret’s attention to Valentine, grew jealous and angry. Just as he finished “pitching,” and was about to join them—
“Tchek!” from Augustus, and on the horses moved, and he had to recommence work. Valentine ran with his prong, and again, by dint of great exertions, finished his side first, and returned to Margaret.
“Tchek! woaght!”
The third time Valentine essayed the same task, delighted to leave Geoffrey in the cold, and to exhibit his superior prowess. But Geoffrey by now had learned how to handle his fork. His muscles were strung, his blood was up, he warmed to his work, and pitched vast bundles that all but buried and half choked Jabez, who was loading on the waggon.
“The dust be all down my droat! Aw, doan’t ’ee, measter!” he cried, in smothered tones.
“Tchek!” and this time Valentine was far behind, and Geoffrey had gone back to talk to Margaret. At the next move Geoffrey not only cleared his side up to the horse in the shafts, but by using his great strength to the utmost, went ahead up the wake eight or ten yards, and thus secured himself twice as long with her, while Valentine had to remain “pitching.” To Jabez the shepherd, on the waggon, it was fine sport to watch the rivalry of the “gennelmen.” A labouring man thoroughly enjoys seeing the perspiration pouring from the faces of the well-to-do. He bustled about as fast as he could, and kept the horses moving. By superior muscular force Geoffrey remained ahead. To Valentine it was gall and wormwood.
“We be getting on famous, zur,” said Jabez. “Tchek!”