inished her own work
early--the cooking, the butter making, the cheese making--and came out
to the field to help rake and load the hay. The old Squire has often
told me that, except at scythe work, grandmother Ruth was the best
helper he had ever had, for at that time she was quick, lithe and strong
and understood the work as well as any man. Later when they were in
prosperous circumstances she gave up doing so much work out of doors;
but still she enjoyed going to the hayfield, and even after we young
folks had gone home to live she made it her custom to lay the last load
of hay and ride to the barn on it just to show that she could do it
still. She was now sixty-four years old, however, and had grown stout,
so stout indeed that to us youngsters she looked rather venturesome on a
load of hay. On the day of my narrative, we had the last of the grass in
the south field "mown and making" on the ground. There were four or five
tons of it, all of which we wanted to put into the barn before night,
for, though the forenoon was bright and clear, we could hear distant
rumblings; and there were other signs that foul weather was coming. The
old Squire sent Ellen over to summon Elder Witham to help us; if the
rain held off until nightfall, we hoped to have the hay inside the barn.

At noon, while we were having luncheon, grandmother Ruth asked at what
time we expected to have the last load ready to go in.

"Not before five o'clock," Asa replied. "It has all to be raked yet."

"Well, I shall be down there by that time," she said in a very
matter-of-fact tone. "I'll bring the girls with me."

"Don't you think, Ruth, that perhaps you had better give it up this
year?" the old Squire said persuasively.

"But why?" grandmother Ruth exclaimed, not at all pleased.

"Well, you know, Ruth, that neither of us is quite so young as we once
were--" the old Squire began apologetically.

"Speak for yourself, Joseph, not for me!" she interrupted. "I'm young
enough to lay a load of hay yet!"

"Yes, yes," the old Squire said soothingly, "I know you are, but the
loads are rather high, and you know that you are getting quite heavy--"

"Then I can tread down hay all the better!" grandmother Ruth cried,
turning visibly pink with vexation.

"All right, all right, Ruth!" the old Squire said with a smile,
prudently abandoning the argument.

Then Elder Witham put in his word. "The Lord has appointed to each of us
our three-score years and ten, a