hurrying to and fro like a stream of busy ants. The women, with clothes
tucked up above the knee, plod and plash through the water. They go at
a half run, a kind of fast trot, and hardly a word is spoken--garnering
the rice crops is too important an operation to dawdle and gossip over.
Each hurries off with his burden to the little family threshing-floor,
dumps down his load, gives a weary grunt, straightens his back, gives a
yawn, then off again to the field for another load. It is no use
leaving a bundle on the field; where food is so eagerly looked for by
such a dense population, where there are hungry mouths and empty
stomachs in every village, a bundle of rice would be gone by the
morning.

As in Greece, where every man has to watch his vineyard at night, so
here, the _kureehan_ or threshing-floor each has its watchman at night.
For the protection of the growing crops, the villagers club together,
and appoint a watchman or _chowkeydar_, whom they pay by giving him a
small percentage on the yield; or a small fractional proportion of the
area he has to guard, with its standing crop, may be made over to him
as a recompense.

They thresh out the rice when it has matured a little on the
threshing-floor. Four to six bullocks are tied in a line to a post in
the centre, and round this they slowly pace in a circle. They are not
muzzled, and the poor brutes seem rather to enjoy the unwonted luxury
of feeding while they work. When there is a good wind, the grain is
winnowed; it is lifted either in bamboo scoops or in the two hands. The
wind blows the chaff or _bhoosa_ on to a heap, and the fine fresh rice
remains behind. The grain merchants now do a good business. Rice must
be sold to pay the rent, the money-lender, and other clamouring
creditors. The _bunniahs_ will take repayment in kind. They put on