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In your house or in the open, the scent of the mildewed grain always in your nostrils, and in your ears no music but the wind's rustle amongst the fat sheaves! And, worst of all, your wife's heart a granary bursting with the load of shame your profligacy has stored there! I warn you Mr. Lawrence Kenward!
In the sun-light above and gas-light below human industry was plying its differently- bitted implements. There were men reaping and studding the pathway of their sickles through the field with thickly-planted sheaves. But right under them, a hundred fathoms deep, subterranean farmers were at work, with black and sweaty brows, garnering the coal- harvest sown there before the Flood.
Franklin wrote a description of the Montgolfier balloon to Sir Joseph Banks, President of the Royal Society of London: "Its bottom was open and in the middle of the opening was fixed a kind of basket grate, in which faggots and sheaves of straw were burnt. The air, rarefied in passing through this flame, rose in the balloon, swelled out its sides, and filled it.
Once he met a company of gayly dressed youths and maidens, carrying sheaves of golden grain, for it was now the harvest-time, and singing in praise of Frey, the giver of peace and plenty. "Whither away, young prince?" they merrily asked. "To Regin, the coal-burner, in the deep greenwood," he answered. "Then may the good Frey have thee in keeping!" they cried. "It is a long and lonesome journey."
"But what the theatre can never reproduce," laments Madame Sand, "is the majesty of the frame the mountain of sheaves solemnly approaching, drawn by three pairs of enormous oxen, the whole adorned with flowers, with fruit, and with fine little children perched upon the top of the last sheaves."
Gray mists were drifting silently across the woods and the wide stubbles of the now shaven cornfield, where white lines of reapers were at work, as the morning cleared, making and stacking the sheaves. After a stormy night the garden was strewn with débris, and here and there noiseless prophetic showers of leaves were dropping on the lawn.
The men working on the top of the thresher showed bronzed against the luminous blue, their shirts as brightly white as the clouds, the shadows under their slouched hats lying soft and blue across their clear eyes. Poised on the stacks the men were busy feeding the sheaves to the men on the thresher, who in their turn tilted them into the great concave drum in its hidden heart.
Of course, there were unpleasant days later in the month, noons when the skies were filled with ragged, swiftly moving clouds, and the winds blew the sheaves inside out and slashed against my face the flying grain as well as the leaping crickets. Such days gave prophecy of the passing of summer and the coming of fall.
His daughter, sheltered from the strong sunlight by the tall stocked sheaves, was reading an elegantly bound book of philosophy. Gertrude Jernyngham had strict rules of life and spent an hour or two of every day in improving her mind, without, so far as her friends had discovered, any enlargement of her outlook.
"You Lintons generally appear bearing your sheaves with you," he said. "Well, you're very welcome. How many of you do I keep?" "Tommy and Norah, for certain," said Mr. Linton. "And as many more of us as you please. Want us all, doctor?" "Well, I really don't; there are a good many men volunteers. But if I might commandeer the car and a driver for a few hours, I should be glad," the doctor went on.
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