few sheaves were decorated with flowers and ribbons, and brought
home in a waggon, called the "Hock-cart," while the labourers, their
wives and children, carrying green boughs, sheaves of wheat and rude
flags, formed a glad procession. All the pipes and tabors in the
village sounded, and shouts of laughter and of song were raised as
the glad procession marched along. They sang--

"Harvest-home, harvest-home,
We have ploughed, we have sowed,
We have reaped, we have mowed,
We have brought home every load.
Hip, hip, hip, harvest-home!"

or, as they say in Berkshire--

"Whoop, whoop, whoop, harvest whoam!"

Sometimes the most comely maiden in the village was chosen as
Harvest Queen, and placed upon her throne at the top of the sheaves
in the hock-cart as it was drawn homewards to the farm.

[Illustration: HARVEST-HOME.]

The rustics receive a hearty welcome at their master's house, where
they find the fuelled chimney blazing wide, and the strong table
groaning beneath the smoking sirloin--

"Mutton, veal,
And bacon, which makes full the meal,
With several dishes standing by,