The water was too high in the spring. Minnows were
plentiful, and as Jimmy said, "It seemed as if the domn plum tree
just rained caterpillars." So they bided their time, and the
signs prohibiting trespass on all sides of their land were many
and emphatic, and Mary had instructions to ring the dinner bell
if she caught sight of any strangers.
The days grew longer, and the sun was insistent. Untold miles
they trudged back and forth across their land, guiding their
horses, jerked about with plows, their feet weighted with the
damp, clinging earth, and their clothing pasted to their wet
bodies. Jimmy was growing restless. Never in all his life had he
worked so faithfully as that spring, and never had his visits to
Casey's so told on him. No matter where they started, or how hard
they worked, Dannie was across the middle of the field, and
helping Jimmy before the finish. It was always Dannie who plowed
on, while Jimmy rode to town for the missing bolt or buckle, and
he generally rolled from his horse into a fence corner, and
slept the remainder of the day on his return.
The work and heat were beginning to tire him, and his trips to
Casey's had been much less frequent than he desired. He grew to
feel that between them Dannie and Mary were driving him, and a
desire to balk at slight cause, gathered in his breast.
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