Chapter 47

           

           Itisthethreshingofthelastwheat-rickatFlintcomb-Ashfarm.ThedawnoftheMarchmorningissingularlyinexpressive,andthereisnothingtoshowwheretheeasternhorizonlies.Againstthetwilightrisesthetrapezoidaltopofthestack,whichhasstoodforlornlyherethroughthewashingandbleachingofthewintryweather.

           WhenIzzHuettandTessarrivedatthesceneofoperationsonlyarustlingdenotedthatothershadprecededthem;towhich,asthelightincreased,therewerepresentlyaddedthesilhouettesoftwomenonthesummit.Theywerebusily“unhaling”therick,thatis,strippingoffthethatchbeforebeginningtothrowdownthesheaves;andwhilethiswasinprogressIzzandTess,withtheotherwomen-workers,intheirwhitey-brownpinners,stoodwaitingandshivering,FarmerGrobyhavinginsistedupontheirbeingonthespotthusearlytogetthejoboverifpossiblebytheendoftheday.Closeundertheeavesofthestack,andasyetbarelyvisible,wastheredtyrantthatthewomenhadcometoserveatimber-framedconstruction,withstrapsandwheelsappertainingthethreshing-machinewhich,whilstitwasgoing,keptupadespoticdemandupontheenduranceoftheirmusclesandnerves.Alittlewayofftherewasanotherindistinctfigure;thisoneblack,withasustainedhissthatspokeofstrengthverymuchinreserve.

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