“Depends on the weather. Say a month—six weeks, perhaps.”
“That’s a long time,” said Jane wistfully.
“Here, don’t you lose your grip, little wife. Where’d we land if you gave up, I’d like to know?”
Jane laughed. “Oh, I’m not losing my grip. I’m only getting a fresh start; but John, as the danger gets nearer and nearer, it takes a lot of nerve never to be afraid, doesn’t it?”
“You bet it does, honey; but me—I’m learning a lot these days. A man doesn’t have to flunk entirely because he is knocked out once. Let’s forget it and go fishing.”
And there was no need for worry. September came without frost following a season of ample moisture. The blue petals had withered long ago, and in their place had come tiny green bolls. That was the danger period, and night after night John had watched the thermometer, for the slightest trace of frost would destroy the delicate bolls and plunge their hopes once more into discouragement; but no frost came, and he watched the little grains pass from milk to dough and at last harden to the point where they were safe. Then came a time of windy weather and clear skies when the field slowly turned to gold and then brown, and the day arrived when Jane and Grahame stood and listened to the dry, metallic, rasping sound of ripe grain. He took off his hat and threw it out on the grain. The serried ranks of stems hardly bent, and the hat rode buoyantly above the field. That was a sign of twenty bushels to the acre! They returned to the house, too happy even to talk, and Grahame went to work on the big “header” or “push-binder,” as it is sometimes called by virtue of the fact that the horses are behind instead of in front of the cutting and binding mechanism.
There are two ways of cutting flax. One is to take off the binder attachment and allow the grain to pass to the carrier and be dumped in windrows. The other is to cut it like other grain and shock it. Grahame had decided to go to the additional expense of tying it, as he explained to Jane:
“Because it is so late in the season, there is a chance of snow before we can get it threshed. Even heavy rains would damage it. If it is shocked, you can see how we can save more of it than we could if it’s lying on the ground. It will cost more, but it’s worth it.”
“Yes, I see that; but—it’s a lot of work to put a hundred acres of grain into shocks.”
“Well, I have the time, and I can work—none better.”