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When anything was doing, such as a thrashing-machine in the field, or a new house being built, one or other of them always stopped. Lars Peter pretended that it was the horse's inquisitiveness. "Well, have you seen enough?" he growled when they had stood for a short while, and gathered up the reins.
"Tending thrashing-machine and wimbling haybonds, and saying 'Hoosh! to the cocks and hens when they go upon your seeds, and planting Early Flourballs and Thompson's Wonderfuls with a dibble." "Yes I see. Are they satisfactory women?" she inquired softly of Henery Fray. "Oh mem don't ask me! Yielding women as scarlet a pair as ever was!" groaned Henery under his breath. "Sit down." "Who, mem?"
Chips was a born sportsman and most useful so long as he confined his activities to rats and was busy when the thrashing-machine was at work, but when he took to corrupting Trump's morals he required watching. Trump would be lying quietly in the house or garden as good as possible, when the insinuating tempter would find him, whisper a few words in his ear, and off they went together.
After a pause, she said: "You were raised on a farm?" "Yes. In Minnesota." "Did you do work like that?" She pointed at a thrashing-machine in the field. "Yes, I ploughed and sowed and reaped and mowed. I wasn't on the farm for my health." "You're very strong, aren't you?" she asked, admiringly. "In a slab-sided kind of a way yes." Her eyes grew abstracted. "I like strong men.
Until the girl comes Jane must sleep in the room with her, and don't bother me unless it is necessary; I feel quite used up, and as if I had been through a thrashing-machine. I am not used to children, and this one is well, to say the least, very extraordinary."
Boys, you see, think a horse or pony is like a steam-engine or a thrashing-machine, and can go on as long and as fast as they please; they never think that a pony can get tired, or have any feelings; so as the one who was whipping me could not understand I just rose up on my hind legs and let him slip off behind that was all. He mounted me again, and I did the same.
It was dusk when we rolled into Ivangorod and into the thick of that vast and complicated labor which goes on in the rear of an advancing army all that laborious building up which follows the retreating army's orgy of tearing down bridge builders, an acre or two of transport horses, blacksmiths and iron-workers, a semi-permanent bakery, the ovens, on wheels, like thrashing-machine engines, dropping sparks and sending out a sweet, warm, steamy smell of corn and wheat.
The greatest difficulty was how to grind the wheat. "You have an engine here?" asked Ambrose. "Yes, for our thrashing-machine," said Simon. "I could order a small process mill from outside," said Ambrose, "but it's doubtful if we could get it in this year." "I have a hand mill," said Simon. "We call her the mankiller. Work all day, grind a couple bags of flour. It is very old."
He understood his farm work thoroughly, he could even mend the thrashing-machine at the manor-house, and he kept everything in his head, beginning with the rotation of crops on his land. Yet his mind lacked that fine thread which joins the project to the accomplishment. Instead of this the sense of obedience was very strongly developed in him.
He surveyed all his clerks unceasingly, and woe betide the unhappy wretch who was caught idling. He and his slaves reminded me of a thrashing-machine which is worked by horses walking round in a ring, the driver being perched on a high stool in the middle and armed with a long whip.
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