o rough and uneven that I had
concluded with Dick's help to cut it by hand. I thought that on a pinch
it could all be done in one day.

"Harriet," I said, "we'll cut the clover to-morrow."

"That's fortunate," said Harriet, "I'd already arranged to have Ann
Spencer in to help me."

Yesterday morning, then, I got out earlier than usual. It was a perfect
June morning, one of the brightest and clearest I think I ever saw. The
mists had not yet risen from the hollows of my lower fields, and all the
earth was fresh with dew and sweet with the mingled odours of growing
things. No hour of the whole day is more perfect than this.

I walked out along the edge of the orchard and climbed the fence of the
field beyond. As I stooped over I could smell the heavy sweet odour of
the clover blossoms. I could see the billowy green sweep of the
glistening leaves. I lifted up a mass of the tangled stems and laid the
palm of my hand on the earth underneath. It was neither too wet nor too
dry.

"We shall have good cutting to-day," I said to myself.

So I stood up and looked with a satisfaction impossible to describe
across the acres of my small domain, marking where in the low spots the
crop seemed heaviest, where it was lodged and tangled by the wind and
the rain, and where in the higher spaces it grew scarce thick enough to
cover the sad baldness of the knolls. How much more we get out of life
than we deserve!

So I walked along the edge of the field to the orchard gate, which I
opened wide.

"Here," I said, "is where we will begin."

So I turned back to the barn. I had not reached the other side of the
orchard when who should I see but Dick Sheridan himself, coming in at
the lane gate. He had an old, coarse-woven straw hat stuck resplendently
on the back of his head. He was carrying his scythe jauntily over his
shoulder and whistling "Good-bye, Susan" at the top of his capacity.

Dick Sheridan is a cheerful young fellow with a thin brown face and
(milky) blue eyes. He has an enormous Adam's apple which has an odd way
of moving up and down when he talks--and one large tooth out in front.
His body is like a bundle of wires, as thin and muscular and enduring as
that of a broncho pony. He can work all day long and then go down to the
lodge-hall at the Crossing and dance half the night. You should really
see him when he dances! He can jump straight up and click his heels
twice together before he comes down again! On such occasions