[{"node":{"title":"Hanna112","Collections":"Part Two","Contributor":"Linen Hall Library","Coverage":"1951","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Thursday, April 7, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Hanna112","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Reaper, Harvesting","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/hanna112","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Hanna112_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeff106\n\nneighbours the July Walk, the bouncing fife and the braggadocio of the\nbelly-drum.\n\nThe hay wan ready for harvesting at Rathard. Early in the morning\nHamilton went down to the field and \"opened\u201d it with his scythe. The sun\nwas well up and a few laggard clouds wore hurrying across the hot flawless\nsky when Frank brought the reaper in, with a merry jingle of harness and the\nleisured purr of meshing wheels.\n\nThe binders cane trickling in, one by one - Petie end Agnes and Sarah, the\nwomen with their hair tied up in bright cloths. A can of buttermilk sat in\nthe shadow of the hedge, and the men fished out little green insects with\ntheir fingers before they drank. Frank sat on the reaper, his sunburnt face\nand chest beaded with sweat. He sang as he swung his rake, doling out the hay\nin loose sheaves. Slowly, patiently, crouching to the earth, the women moved\nbehind the machine.\n\nSarah worked on in a blindness of pain. As every sheaf dropped from her\nhand, she raised her open mouth to the air, as if she were choking. Then, at\nthe corner of the field nearest the house, she cried out and fell to the ground.\n\"Is it my time, Agnes?\" she asked, as the old woman drew her up. Agnes nodded,\n\"Now,\" she said. They passed through the cool shadow of the rowans and onwards\ninto the house. Agnes undressed her and laid her in bed ....\n\nSomeone spoke at a great distance. Through the deep small window came\nthe sounds of the harvesting field, the bustle of bees, and a tapping noise\nclose by. \"Chase the hens from the garden, Agnes,\" said the woman on the bed,\nopening her eyes. Her neighbour still leaned over her waiting on an answer\nto her question. \"Sarah, who\u2019s the wean\u2019s father?\" she asked again.\n","Type":"Text"}}]