"Just see it cut!" exclaimed one of the college boys, as a huge twelve-foot gash was made in the waiting grain. Then: "See the floats; we'll have a carnival parade!" as two wagons with great platforms, well walled, drove after.

"Hurry up with them header boxes!" called Farmer Mangold.

"Click, click," went the long row of knives; an endless

carrier received the grain, cut just below the heavy headshence, a header" and dumped the steady stream of riches into the platformed wagon. When the receptacle was filled, it was driven off to the stack and another took its place.

"That suits me," said the doctor, and he applied for a place on a wagon. It was granted. No one else cared, and now that the whole brigade was disposed of, Farmer Mangold returned to his seat, cracked the whip once more, and the slaughter of the grain went on more swiftly than ever.

Around the field again! The sun seemed softened, the wind less biting. But there was a goneness that would not down, a growing faintness that would not be quieted. Had the women-folk at the farm-house forgotten our existence? The tenth time we asked it-and then, welcome summons, a far-off tinkle! Even the horses knew what it meant. As for the men, they shouted

"D-i-n-n-e-r!" and

made a bee line for the kitchen chimney, marked black against the cerulean of the sky.

III

HARVEST is not an unmixed pleasure to the Western household. By the time its duties have been apportioned, the housewife doubts if the comfort of an extra dress the coming winter will offset the presence of a hungry horde of workers. But it is not a choice; it is a necessity. In preparation for this event, Mrs. Mangold had been buying sacks of flour, slabs of bacon, pails of fish, pecks of beans, dozens of packages of breakfast food, and boxes of canned tomatoes. The county paper's "Maple Hill Mutterings" had announced: "Miss Susan Kittredge will help Mrs. Mangold through harvest." Susan taught a country school in Flora township last winter, but she was not above helping her neighbors in a time like this.

Hot? It seemed to us that the sun had concentrated its force upon that particular section. The south wind, racing over a thousand miles of plain, brought with it all the accumulated caloric of the far-reaching surface. Sunburn was already showing on our wrists. What a delight when a little brown-haired maiden rode a spotted pony across the stubble and brought two cool jugs-one with buttermilk fresh from the creamery and one with water!

"What's your name, little girl?" queried Mart, the union man.

"Ruth Mangold, sir;" and of course the college boys yelled, "What's the matter with Ruthie-she's all right!" At which

A long table had been built of sawhorses and boards, and was placed on the screened porch. The rustle of honeysuckle and Virginia creeper, and the soughing of a tall cottonwood made pleasant music; softened by vine and leaf was the mid-day glare. A red table-cloth added a dash of color to the picture. To the eyes of

the hungry company that tramped up from the wheat-field it was exceedingly good to look at.

"Washbasin an' soap on th' bench ther'," announced the motherly presiding genius of the kitchen. The splattering of the clean-up process commenced.

The doctor had his team to care for and was last to come to the table. But the others did not wait for him. They were already seated, a blue-shirted, coatless, starving gathering.

"Don't be bashful," was the farmer's orders.

They attacked the heaps of bread and the dishes of pickles as if to annihilate the entire board. The generous plates that came down from Father Mangold's end of the table were cleaned with little regard for the niceties of polite society.

The college boys were pleased with Susan's red cheeks and black hair-anyone could see that except Susan; she did not seem to notice. She distributed the plates of bread alike to the just and the unjust.

"Hearty family you've got, mother," remarked Mr. Mangold as the second helping of meat and potatoes vanished.

"There's more where this came from," she smilingly but somewhat irrelevantly returned, and then asked the doctor if he were tired.

"Not now, ma'am; can't you see how hard I am working for the love of it?" It passed for a joke and the crowd laughed. Then came the apple pie-but Mart, the union man, would take it in his hands and eat it boy fashion.

It was soon over, and the men stretched themselves in the shade of the cottonwood tree or sat in little groups discussing the prospects of harvest.

"I wanted ter git a gang that would do th' work an' board themselves, without makin' th' women folks so much worry," remarked Farmer Mangold. "But it couldn't be done. Lots of

th' farmers are rentin' their farms and movin' to town just because they can't get help. Then they put the wheat land into grass, an' git along that a-way. Don't know but I'll have ter do th' same thing."

The college boys stayed by Susan, and one even helped her "rid off the table."

Next the call from refreshment to labor, and the procession-returned to the section of wheat, now showing he results of our morning campaign.

his sweater, and his arms were streaked with perspiration and dust; the coal heavers had little lanes of moisture amid the waste of sooty cheek-bones. The doctor had stopped talking-sign enough that he was pretty well used up.

Even after we had decided that it was supper time, around and around went the

reapers; and not until the sun touched the rim of wheat-land did Farmer Mangold halt, with a welcome "Time to unhitch, boys!"

There were no cheerssimply a stolid turning kitchen-ward.

Supper was eaten in silence.

Martin tried to hold a meeting in the rear of the wagon-shed. He wanted to organize a strike. "We ain't gettin' our dues," he declared. "If all the farmhands 'll get together, they can jest as well hev three dollars a day-an' found. It's worth it

"It's worth a hundred," interrupted Jim.

Martin frowned and went on, describing the possibilities of a world-wide harvesters' union. His auditors had brought armfuls of hay and straw for resting places, and were lying easily thereon, looking up at the spangled dome. His voice grew fainter-and fainter. Suddenly he discovered, to his disgust, that he was addressing the starsthe toilers of the harvest field were fast asleep.

Strange how long are harvest afternoons! The wind carries a pungent, warping heat that makes every pore smart; leagues of dancing wheat before, leagues of coarse stubble behind. It seems that the sun has stopped midway in the western heavens. Singing of reapers, click of headers, swishing of horses' tails as they attack eager flies, and now and again the skurry of a startled jack-rabbit, or the huddled terror of a quail family suddenly made homeless -it is monotonous, wearying, typical of the plains.

The swaggering college youth had shed

Scarcely had eyes been closed, it seemed, when there came Farmer Mangold's cheery voice: "Get up, boys, breakfast'll be ready in a minute!" So soon? How could it be? Muscles stiff the night before were stiffer now; eyelids seemed pasted together. Breakfast was doleful, compared with the jollity of the day preceding.

Then we saw the sunrise-a rare experience to some of the party. With wide reaches of green and gold, with sparkle of

but now, in its youth, it is marvellous in its beauty. It thrills the soul with wonder at the miracle of Nature's handiwork.

Martin's "strike" came four days later. Ruth had brought out her welcome jugs of water and buttermilk; the workers were gathered beside one of the shapely stacks enjoying a brief recess. He made a speech declaring independence, and demanding a "raise" before the next square mile of grain could be touched.

"Jest as ye please, boys," was our employer's ultimatum. "A train-load of men is comin' in this afternoon. Let me know how many of ye want to go." Martin

and a better understanding of our work. Two of the college boys proved to be good stackers; the doctor was promoted to driver of the leading reaper.

One night, part of the force, having rested during the afternoon, took a change of horses, hung lanterns to the harness hames, and ran the machines until midnight; then another company came out and kept up the cutting until dawn. The slight dampness of the night air made the loss from the ripe grain's shelling much less than in the blistering sunlight.

Steadily we whittled down the golden squares; stack after stack lifted its solemn