“Mother’s gitting a valiant supper fur us when ’tis all a-done. She says if you’ve bruk the Sabbath one way you may as well break it another and maake a good job of it. Thyrza’s coming, and is bringing all her tinned salmon. Wot do you think of my sunshade, Nell?—reckon it’s unaccountable smart,” and Ivy threw it down into the stubble and began rolling up her sleeves.
“It’s middling kind of you,” said Harry politely to Sergeant Staples.
“Only too glad—I’ve done a power of this work over in Sask. May I ask what this little buggy is?”—and he pointed to the nodding erection of old Juglery chaired above the reins that slacked on Tassell’s rump.
“That’s the reaper, surelye.”
The Canadian did not speak, but the puzzled look deepened on his face.
“Maybe you’ll taake a sickle, being handy-like?”
“Sure”—but when Harry gave him Mus’ Beatup’s discarded weapon he held it at arm’s length and scratched his head. Then he slid up to Ivy—
“Say, kid, I never heard before as in the old country they cut corn with a pocket-knife.”
However, he swung his tool handily, and with the two new workers, and the extra energy of the old, the reaping went forward at a pace which threatened the victory of those black clouds over Galleybird.