Jake grinned.  He had been grinning more or less all day.  This “haying it” with a field full of boys and young ladies was a new and interesting experience for Mr. Kelly.

At this moment a diversion arose.  Two of the guests, disputing for the possession of a pitchfork, both naturally preferring it to a rake for bunching up from the winrows—­being raked by Bob with a horse-rake—­had decided to settle the matter, street fashion, with their fists.  They were pretty evenly matched and a rough-and-tumble fight ensued.  Ferry stopped to watch the bout and see that fair play was enforced.  Everybody else stopped work also, and stood looking that way.  Jake Kelly, perhaps the most interested spectator in the field, slid down from the load and strolled toward the affair, still grinning.  Jarvis, with the precaution of a glance around at the wagon, on the top of which perched Sally, took a few steps in the same direction.  It was hot, and he was glad of a moment’s respite from his labours.  He did not see that the lad at the bridle of the “colt” had relaxed his hold.

Suddenly one of the lads in the affair of the pitchfork got in a bit of unfair work—­unfair according to the standards Ferry had introduced among these young friends of his.  A protesting yell from at least a dozen throats instantly called the fighters’ attention to this fact, and Ferry himself called out, “No fouls, Bates!”

At the yells the “colt” plunged, carrying his mate with him.  Sally, though unprepared, hung on gallantly to the lines, trying hard to pull the pair to a standstill.  The ground was uneven, and not free from an occasional stone.  The wagon had not gone its own length before a shriek from the girls on the fence had brought Jarvis, Jake, and Ferry to the right-about, and all three rushed for the horses’ heads.  But they were too late to prevent the accident which is always liable to happen in a hayfield, particularly when the driver is a novice.  The right front wheel swerved into a hollow, the wagon tipped, the “colt” plunged again.  Sally slipped, and tried to throw herself down in safety upon the top of the load, but it slid with her, and in an instant the spectators and the three dashing to the rescue saw the whole load go like a green mountain to the ground, covering Sally from sight.

Now a forkful of hay is light, but a load of the fragrant stuff is very heavy and very smothery, and it depends entirely upon where the victim lands under such an avalanche whether the matter is serious or otherwise.  For a minute nobody could be sure just where the slender, blue-clad figure might be, for it made no outcry.  The hearts of them all were in their throats for a minute, as the men tore at the hay with their hands, Jarvis thundering at the tall lad, who seized upon a pitchfork, “Don’t touch it with that, you fool!”

He was blaming himself savagely as he worked for leaving the girl for an instant, under such conditions.  Ferry was calling, “Don’t be frightened, we’ll have you out in a minute!” Jake was grunting, “Hope the little gal ain’t far under—­hope to mercy she ain’t!” and Josephine, Janet, and Constance were trying to get a chance to help, though the most they could do was to keep clear of the desperately working arms of the men.