It happened at the end of the hay-harvest, and the two were leaning over a gate discussing the yet unthatched rick.
"What I say is," declared the farmer quite in-consequently, "a man must be able to lay his troubles 'pon the Lord.

I don't mean his work, but his troubles; and go home and shut the door and be happy with his wife and children.

Now, I tell you that for months--iss, years--after Bob was born I kept plaguing myself in the fields, thinking that some harm might have happened to the child.

Why, I used to make an excuse and creep home, and then if I see'd a blind pulled down you wouldn't think how my heart'd go thump; and I'd stand wi' my head on the door-hapse an' say, 'If so be the Lord have took'n, I must go and comfort Susan--not my will, but Thine, Lord-- but, Lord, don't 'ee be cruel this time!' And then find the cheeld right as ninepence and the blind only pulled down to keep the sun off the carpet.

After a while my wife guessed what was wrong--I used to make up such poor twiddling pretences.