The hay is still wet, but he congratulates himself that not much damage is done.
Saturday Is warm and fine--work goes on again.

But Sunday is near.

Sunday is fiery hot.

Monday, the rain pours down with tropical vehemence.
Thus the monotonous, heart-breaking days go by and lengthen into weeks, and the weeks extend into months.

The wheat is turning colour, and still the hay lies about, and the farmer has ceased even to tap the barometer.
Those fields that are not cut are brown as brown can be--the grass has seeded and is over ripe.