 | Dorothy |  |
Therefore, she went on her way, spring, summer, autumn, winter—
Doing the season's work indoors and out, at the farm;
Caring for little, save that, and the warm and equal affection
She from a child had known—daughter and servant in one.
Winter—she help'd old John, a-laying down straw for the cattle;
Clean'd out the stable and byres, nothing afraid of the bull;
Help'd at the pig-killing too, and clean'd out the pigstye after;
She never thought, not she, that was a trouble to do:
Spring—she look'd after the lambs, and the calves that wanted suckling;
Work'd in the fields too, a bit, cleaning the land, or at plough.
Well can our Dorothy plough—as a girl, she learnt it and loved it;
Leading the teams, at first, follow'd by Master himself;
Then, when she grew to the height and the strength of a muscular woman,
Grasping the stilts in her pride, driving the mighty machine.
Ah, what a joy for her, at early morn, in the springtime,
Driving from hedge to hedge furrows as straight as a line!
Seeing the crisp brown earth, like waves at the bow of a vessel,
Rise, curl over, and fall, under the thrust of the share;
Orderly falling and still, its edges all creamy and crumbling,
But, on the sloping side, polish'd and purple as steel;
Till all the field, she thought, looked bright as the bars of that gridiron
In the great window at church, over the gentlefolks' pew:
And evermore, as she strode, she has cheerful companions behind her;
Rooks and the smaller birds, following after her plough;
And, 'ere the ridges were done, there was gossamer woven above them,
Gossamer dewy and white, shining like foam on the sea.,
Well may she joy in such things, in the freedom of outdoor labour—
Freeborn lass that she is, fetter'd by Duty alone:
Well may she do—being young, and healthy and hearty and fearless—
Things that a town-bred girl dared not adventure at all.
For, 'twas not ploughing alone; but she wrought with the hoe and the harrow,
Drove the great waggon afield, carted and spread the manure;
Mounted tall Dobbin or Dick, and rode him unharness'd to water,
Riding, when no one was near, skilfully riding, astride.
Yes—honi soit, if you please! For the damsels of Brittany do it;
So do the bonny Welsh girls, out in the vale of Llanrwst;
So, over half the world, does every one, gentle and simple,
Women as well as the men—maidens and matrons and all.
But in the Summer, again, from haytime till after the harvest,
Mary was maid of the house: Dorothy, willing and strong,
Willing and strong as she was, could never do all that was wanted;
Cleaning and baking must wait—Mary will do what she can:
Dorothy's work is abroad—in the field, on the farm, in the dairy,
Churning, milking of course, making of curds and of cheese;
Tending of cattle and swine, and haymaking down in the meadows
Or up in Breakheart Field; haymaking she with the rest.
Doing the season's work indoors and out, at the farm;
Caring for little, save that, and the warm and equal affection
She from a child had known—daughter and servant in one.
8
Clean'd out the stable and byres, nothing afraid of the bull;
Help'd at the pig-killing too, and clean'd out the pigstye after;
She never thought, not she, that was a trouble to do:
Spring—she look'd after the lambs, and the calves that wanted suckling;
Work'd in the fields too, a bit, cleaning the land, or at plough.
Well can our Dorothy plough—as a girl, she learnt it and loved it;
Leading the teams, at first, follow'd by Master himself;
Then, when she grew to the height and the strength of a muscular woman,
Grasping the stilts in her pride, driving the mighty machine.
Ah, what a joy for her, at early morn, in the springtime,
Driving from hedge to hedge furrows as straight as a line!
Seeing the crisp brown earth, like waves at the bow of a vessel,
Rise, curl over, and fall, under the thrust of the share;
Orderly falling and still, its edges all creamy and crumbling,
But, on the sloping side, polish'd and purple as steel;
Till all the field, she thought, looked bright as the bars of that gridiron
In the great window at church, over the gentlefolks' pew:
And evermore, as she strode, she has cheerful companions behind her;
Rooks and the smaller birds, following after her plough;
And, 'ere the ridges were done, there was gossamer woven above them,
Gossamer dewy and white, shining like foam on the sea.,
Well may she joy in such things, in the freedom of outdoor labour—
Freeborn lass that she is, fetter'd by Duty alone:
Well may she do—being young, and healthy and hearty and fearless—
Things that a town-bred girl dared not adventure at all.
For, 'twas not ploughing alone; but she wrought with the hoe and the harrow,
Drove the great waggon afield, carted and spread the manure;
Mounted tall Dobbin or Dick, and rode him unharness'd to water,
Riding, when no one was near, skilfully riding, astride.
Yes—honi soit, if you please! For the damsels of Brittany do it;
So do the bonny Welsh girls, out in the vale of Llanrwst;
9
Women as well as the men—maidens and matrons and all.
But in the Summer, again, from haytime till after the harvest,
Mary was maid of the house: Dorothy, willing and strong,
Willing and strong as she was, could never do all that was wanted;
Cleaning and baking must wait—Mary will do what she can:
Dorothy's work is abroad—in the field, on the farm, in the dairy,
Churning, milking of course, making of curds and of cheese;
Tending of cattle and swine, and haymaking down in the meadows
Or up in Breakheart Field; haymaking she with the rest.
Child's play, you think, making hay? Why yes, when a dainty young lady
Tosses a forkful or two, just for a frolic, in fun:
Not when you work all day, from morning far into moonlight,
Up and down the long rows, raking and forking away;
Standing at last on the stack, and catching up hay from the waggon—
That was our Dorothy's work; ay, and she did it, and well!
Also, when harvest was come, she work'd in the field with her sickle;
Wheat, and barley, and beans fell to the sweep of her blade:
She could keep up with the men at reaping, and binding, and stacking;
She could keep up with the men; she could leave laggards behind.
All through the sultry days, in the silent ranks of the reapers,
Dorothy wrought like a man, keeping her time with the best;
Earning her harvest wage—for her wages were doubled in harvest;
Earning her bacon and bread under the hazels at noon.
Brown grew her handsome face, her bare arms brown as the chestnut;
She too, a labourer still, wrought in the sweat of her brow;
But, with her hair tied up in a handkerchief under her bonnet,
And with her lilac frock kilted up gaily behind,
She was a pleasure to see; and there was not a man of her fellows
Would not have snatch'd, if he dared, Dorothy's hard-working hand.
But they all knew her; they knew, though she chatted and laugh'd like another,
Neither refused her lips when the cool barrel went round,
Yet she was proud of her work, and kept to herself like a lady—
Awing a man by her strength, awing him more by her eyes.
Therefore they let her alone—Mr. Robert was never among them—
And she went free to the field; free and unaided, return'd.
But on the last day of all, when the crop was housed, and the stubble
All over Breakheart Field shone like a faint yellow haze;
When every sheaf was bound, and the Harvest Home was approaching;
Dorothy came not afield—for she was wanted within.
Mistress and Mary alone could never accomplish the supper—
Dorothy too must be there, helping to cook and to clean;
Furbishing knives and plates, and dusty old things from the storeroom—
Crockery seldom used, kept for such banquets as this.
Tosses a forkful or two, just for a frolic, in fun:
Not when you work all day, from morning far into moonlight,
Up and down the long rows, raking and forking away;
Standing at last on the stack, and catching up hay from the waggon—
That was our Dorothy's work; ay, and she did it, and well!
Also, when harvest was come, she work'd in the field with her sickle;
Wheat, and barley, and beans fell to the sweep of her blade:
She could keep up with the men at reaping, and binding, and stacking;
She could keep up with the men; she could leave laggards behind.
All through the sultry days, in the silent ranks of the reapers,
Dorothy wrought like a man, keeping her time with the best;
Earning her harvest wage—for her wages were doubled in harvest;
Earning her bacon and bread under the hazels at noon.
Brown grew her handsome face, her bare arms brown as the chestnut;
She too, a labourer still, wrought in the sweat of her brow;
But, with her hair tied up in a handkerchief under her bonnet,
And with her lilac frock kilted up gaily behind,
She was a pleasure to see; and there was not a man of her fellows
Would not have snatch'd, if he dared, Dorothy's hard-working hand.
10
Neither refused her lips when the cool barrel went round,
Yet she was proud of her work, and kept to herself like a lady—
Awing a man by her strength, awing him more by her eyes.
Therefore they let her alone—Mr. Robert was never among them—
And she went free to the field; free and unaided, return'd.
But on the last day of all, when the crop was housed, and the stubble
All over Breakheart Field shone like a faint yellow haze;
When every sheaf was bound, and the Harvest Home was approaching;
Dorothy came not afield—for she was wanted within.
Mistress and Mary alone could never accomplish the supper—
Dorothy too must be there, helping to cook and to clean;
Furbishing knives and plates, and dusty old things from the storeroom—
Crockery seldom used, kept for such banquets as this.
| Dorothy | |