When their
pipes were about half smoked, the men rose, whetted their scythes for
the third time, and mowed again. Miss King stopped writing and watched
them. The day grew hotter, and the spells of mowing became shorter.
Miss King gave up the attempt to write, and lay dreamily gazing at the
men, roused to active consciousness now and then by the rasp of the
hones against the scythe blades. At one o'clock the men, guessing it
to be dinnertime, stopped pretending to work and went away. A few
minutes later Miss King, feeling the need of luncheon, disentangled
herself from the hammock, bundled her papers together, and went into
the house.
At two o'clock the men, carrying their scythes, returned to the tennis
court, which was nearly half mowed. At half-past two Miss King joined
them, and climbed as gracefully as she could into the hammock. She
brought a book with her this time instead of her manuscript. The
afternoon was hotter than the morning had been, and there was a very
soothing sound of bees among the branches of the trees. Miss King, who
had eaten her luncheon with a good appetite, went to sleep. The two
gardeners, after a short consultation, sat down under a tree and
smoked.
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