the
way.

"I'm lame, and you know it," said Sam, in an injured tone.

"Very lame, I know, you ambitious mouse-catcher!" said Mr. Royden. "I'll
favor your broken leg. Here, if you can't rake hay, get up on the rick
with James. See if you two can load as fast as Mark and I can pitch."

"Get up," cried Mark. "We'll find something for you to do."

Mark was a giant at pitching. He rolled up vast forkfuls, with which he
inundated Sam at every rod. The latter had no time for fun; the moment
he paused, up came a perfect cloud of hay, which he must dispose of, or
be buried.

A towering load went to the stack. By the time the rick was emptied, the
clouds, which had made no show of hostilities for some time, sent out a
detachment that swept across the sky, black and threatening, wheeling
and darkening the field.

"I vow," said Mark, "that looks like rain!"

"Rain--sure enough!" articulated Mr. Royden, with a troubled expression.

"A big sprinkle struck me right on the nose," cried Sam.

"I wish we had got up the hay that was down, the first thing after
dinner, and left the cocks," said the farmer, pricking the horses. "I
would have risked it in the stack, if I had known it was so well cured.
If there should come up a rain, it would be spoilt."

There was real danger, and each man went to work as if the hay was all
his own.

"Don't pitch so fast as you did afore, Mark," whined Sam. "You 'most
covered me up, fifteen or sixteen times."

"It'll do you good," replied the jockey, heaving a fraction of a ton
from the heavy windrow directly upon Sam's head. "Tread it down!"

Father Brighthopes, who had been some time sitting by the stack, to rest
his old limbs, observed the threatening clouds, and came out again with
his rake.

"You'd better go to the house, Father," said Mr. Royden, in a hurried
tone. "I would not have you get wet and take cold for ten times the
worth of the hay."

But the old man would not leave the field, which was now a busy and
exciting scene. The storm seemed inevitable. Getting the hay into cocks
that would shed rain, Chester and the men worked almost miraculously.
It seemed as if they had husbanded their strength during the week for
this crisis. They were not jaded and disheartened laborers, but bold and
active workmen.

Meanwhile the new load swelled and loomed up prodigiously.

"When I give the word, James," cried Mr. Royden, "drive to the stack as
straight as you can go. It must be topped