Already half the blossoms of the clover had turned brown and
were shriveling away into inconspicuous seediness. The leaves underneath
on the lower parts of the stems were curling up and fading; many of
them had already dropped away. There is a tide also in the affairs of
clover and if a farmer would profit by his crop, it must be taken at its
flood.
I began to watch the skies with some anxiety, and on Thursday I was
delighted to see the weather become clearer, and a warm dry wind spring
up from the southwest. On Friday there was not so much as a cloud of the
size of a man's hand to be seen anywhere in the sky, not one, and the
sun with lively diligence had begun to make up for the listlessness of
the past week. It was hot and dry enough to suit the most exacting
hay-maker.
Encouraged by these favourable symptoms I sent word to Dick Sheridan (by
one of Horace's men) to come over bright and early on Saturday morning.
My field is only a small one and so 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.
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