He chewed vigorously on a quid of tobacco, one of his most
noticeable bad habits.
Teams could be heard clattering along on several roads now, and
jovial voices singing. One team coming along behind the two men,
the driver sung out in good-natured warning, "Get out o' the way,
there." And with a laugh and a chirp spurred his horses to pass
them.
Ed, with a swift understanding of the driver's trick, flung out his
left hand and caught the end-gate, threw his fork in, and leaped
after it. Will walked on, disdaining attempt to catch the wagon. On
all sides now the wagons of the plowmen or threshers were getting
out into the fields, with a pounding, rumbling sound.
The pale red sun was shooting light through the leaves, and
warming the boles of the great oaks that stood in the yard, and
melting the frost off the great gaudy threshing machine that stood
between the stacks. The interest, picturesqueness of it all got hold
of Will Hannan, accustomed to it as he was. The homes stood
about in a circle, hitched to the ends of the six sweeps, all shining
with frost.
The driver was oiling the great tarry cogwheels underneath.
Laughing fellows were wrestling about the yard.
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