ourselves have let the substance drop, while our gaze has been glamoured
by the shadow.

Early in July the haying began. The mowers were expected to be in the
meadow by sunrise; and all through the day the rasp of their whetstones
could be heard, as they dexterously drew them with a quick motion of the
hand, first along one side of the scythe and then the other; after which
they went swinging across the field, the waving grass falling rapidly
before their keen blades, and dropping in swathes at their side. The
days were not then divided off into a stated number of working hours.
The rule was to begin with the morning light and continue as long as you
could see. Of course men had to eat in those days as well as now, and
the blast of the old tin dinner-horn fell on the ear with more melodious
sound than the grandest orchestra to the musical enthusiast. Even "Old
Gray," when I followed the plough, used to give answer to the cheerful
wind of the horn by a loud whinny, and stop in the furrow, as if to say,
"There now, off with my harness, and let us to dinner." If I happened to
be in the middle of the field, I had considerable trouble to get the old
fellow to go on to the end.

I must say a few words in this place about "Old Gray." Why he was always
called "Old Gray" is more than I know. His colour could not have
suggested the name, for he was a bright roan, almost a bay. He was by no
means a pretty animal, being raw-boned, and never seeming to be in
first-rate condition; but he was endowed with remarkable sagacity and
great endurance, and was, moreover, a fleet trotter. When my father
began the work for himself he was a part of his chattels, and survived
his master several years. Father drove him twice to Little York one
winter, a distance of over one hundred and fifty miles, accomplishing
the trip both times inside of a week. He never would allow a team to