in the
open.

A HARVESTING

The year was in its yellowing time, and the face of Nature a study in
old gold. "A field or, semee, with garbs of the same:" it may be false
Heraldry--Nature's generally is--but it correctly blazons the display
that Edward and I considered from the rickyard gate, Harold was not
on in this scene, being stretched upon the couch of pain; the special
disorder stomachic, as usual.

The evening before, Edward, in a fit of unwonted amiability, had deigned
to carve me out a turnip lantern, an art-and-craft he was peculiarly
deft in; and Harold, as the interior of the turnip flew out in scented
fragments under the hollowing knife, had eaten largely thereof:
regarding all such jetsam as his special perquisite. Now he was dreeing
his weird, with such assistance as the chemist could afford. But Edward
and I, knowing that this particular field was to be carried to-day,
were revelling in the privilege of riding in the empty waggons from the
rickyard back to the sheaves, whence we returned toilfully on foot,
to career it again over the billowy acres in these great galleys of
a stubble sea. It was the nearest approach to sailing that we inland
urchins might compass: and hence it ensued, that such stirring scenes as
Sir Richard Grenville on the Revenge, the smoke-wreathed Battle of the
Nile, and the Death of Nelson, had all been enacted in turn on these
dusty quarter decks, as they swayed and bumped afield.

Another waggon had shot its load, and was jolting out through the
rickyard gate, as we swung ourselves in, shouting, over its tail.

Edward was the first up, and, as I gained my feet, he clutched me in a
death-grapple. I was a privateersman, he proclaimed, and he the captain
of the British frigate Terpsichore, of--I forget the precise number
of guns. Edward always collared the best parts to himself; but I was
holding my own gallantly, when I suddenly discovered that the floor we
battled on was swarming with earwigs. Shrieking, I hurled free of him,
and rolled over the tail-board on to the stubble. Edward executed a
war-dance of triumph on the deck of the retreating galleon; but I cared
little for that. I knew HE knew that I wasn't afraid of him, but that
I was--and terribly--of earwigs, "those mortal bugs o' the field." So
I let him disappear, shouting lustily for all hands to repel boarders,
while I strolled inland, down the village.

There was a touch of adventure in the expedition. This wa