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The meadow presents a pleasing picture before it is invaded by the haymakers, and a varied and animated one after it is thus invaded; the mowing-machine sending a shudder ahead of it through the grass, the hay-tedder kicking up the green locks like a giant, many-legged grasshopper, the horserake gathering the cured hay into windrows, the white-sleeved men with their forks pitching it into cocks, and, lastly, the huge, soft-cheeked loads of hay, towering above the teams that draw them, brushing against the bar-ways and the lower branches of the trees along their course, slowly winding their way toward the barn.
"Makes you think of a hay-tedder, don't he?" grinned Racey. "How much did you lose, Luke two bits?" At this Luke looked up sharply. "Seems to me you got over yore drunk pretty quick," said he. "Oh, my liquor never stays by me a great while," Racey told him easily. "That's the beauty of being young.
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