Grandmother Ruth settled herself midway on the load to ride it to the barn, thrusting her fork deep into the hay so as to have something to hold on by.

We could just see her sun hat and her face over the hay; she looked very pink and triumphant.
Carefully avoiding stones and all the inequalities in the field, the old Squire drove at a slow walk.

I surmise that he had his fears.

It was certainly the highest load we had hauled to the barn that summer.
The rest of us followed after, glad indeed that the long task of haying was now done, and that the last load would soon be in the barn.

Halfway to the farm buildings the cart road led through a gap in the stone wall where two posts with bars separated the south field from the middle field.