and thaw, chill rains, locking frosts and loosening snows--all the
action of the elements--until the gums holding together the
filaments of the fibre rot out and dissolve, until the bast be
separated from the woody portion of the stalk, and the stalk itself
be decayed and easily broken.

Some day you walk across the spread hemp, your foot goes through at
each step, you stoop and taking several stalks, snap them readily
in your fingers. The ends stick out clean apart; and lo! hanging
between them, there it is at last--a festoon of wet, coarse, dark
gray riband, wealth of the hemp, sail of the wild Scythian
centuries before Horace ever sang of him, sail of the Roman, dress
of the Saxon and Celt, dress of the Kentucky pioneer.

The rakers reappear at intervals of dry weather, and draw the hemp
into armfuls and set it up in shocks of convenient size, wide
flared at the bottom, well pressed in and bound at the top, so that
the slanting sides may catch the drying sun and the sturdy base
resist the strong winds. And now the fields are as the dark brown
camps of armies--each shock a soldier's tent. Yet not dark always;
at times snow-covered; and then the white tents gleam for miles in
the winter sunshine--the snow-white tents of the camping hemp.

Throughout the winter and on into early spring, as days may be warm
or the hemp dry, the breaking continues. At each nightfall, cleaned
and baled, it is hauled on wagon-beds or slides to the barns or the
hemphouses, where it is weighed for the work and wages of the day.

Last of all, the brakes having been taken from the field, some
night--dear sport for the lads!--takes place the burning of the