Sometimes the threshing was done in the open air, upon a broad rock, or a smooth, dry plat of greensward; and it is occasionally done there yet, especially the threshing of the buckwheat crop, by a farmer who has not a good barn floor, or who cannot afford to hire the machine.  The flail makes a louder thud in the fields than you would imagine; and in the splendid October weather it is a pleasing spectacle to behold the gathering of the ruddy crop, and three or four lithe figures beating out the grain with their flails in some sheltered nook, or some grassy lane lined with cedars.  When there are three flails beating together, it makes lively music; and when there are four, they follow each other so fast that it is a continuous roll of sound, and it requires a very steady stroke not to hit or get hit by the others.  There is just room and time to get your blow in, and that is all.  When one flail is upon the straw, another has just left it, another is halfway down, and the fourth is high and straight in the air.  It is like a swiftly revolving wheel that delivers four blows at each revolution.  Threshing, like mowing, goes much easier in company than when alone; yet many a farmer or laborer spends nearly all the late fall and winter days shut in the barn, pounding doggedly upon the endless sheaves of oats and rye.

When the farmers made “bees,” as they did a generation or two ago much more than they do now, a picturesque element was added.  There was the stone bee, the husking bee, the “raising,” the “moving,” etc.  When the carpenters had got the timbers of the house or the barn ready, and the foundation was prepared, then the neighbors for miles about were invited to come to the “raisin’.”  The afternoon was the time chosen.  The forenoon was occupied by the carpenter and the farm hands in putting the sills and “sleepers” in place ("sleepers,” what a good name for those rude hewn timbers that lie under the floor in the darkness and silence!).  When the hands arrived, the great beams and posts and joists and braces were carried to their place on the platform, and the first “bent,” as it was called, was put together and pinned by oak pins that the boys brought.  Then pike poles were distributed, the men, fifteen or twenty of them, arranged in a line abreast of the bent; the boss carpenter steadied and guided the corner post and gave the word of command,—­“Take holt, boys!” “Now, set her up!” “Up with her!” “Up she goes!” When it gets shoulder high, it becomes heavy, and there is a pause.  The pikes are brought into requisition; every man gets a good hold and braces himself, and waits for the words.  “All together now!” shouts the captain; “Heave her up!” “He-o-he!” (heave-all,—­heave), “he-o-he,” at the top of his voice, every man doing his best.  Slowly the great timbers go up; louder grows the word of command, till the bent is up.  Then it is plumbed and stay-lathed, and another is put together and raised in the same way, till they are all up.  Then comes the putting on the great plates,—­timbers that run lengthwise of the building and match the sills below.  Then, if there is time, the putting up of the rafters.