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THREE:The hay-harvest of 1904 was a good one��of course Realf's hay had too much sorrel in it, there was always something wrong with Realf's crops��but generally speaking the yield was plentiful and of good quality. Reuben rejoiced to feel the soft June sun on his back, and went out into the fields with his men, himself driving for some hours the horse-rake over the swathes, and drinking at noon his pint of beer in the shade of the waggon. In the evening the big hay-elevator hummed at Odiam, and old Backfield stood and watched it piling the greeny-brown ricks till darkness fell, and he went in to supper and the sleep of his old age.Reuben faced his adversity with set teeth and a dogged countenance. He had not been farming thirty odd years to be beaten casually by the weather. Scorching heat and blighting cold, the still blanker doom of the trickling, pouring rain��the wind that seeded his corn, and beat down his hay, and flung his hop-bines together in muddled heaps��the pests that Nature breeds by the ten million out of her own putrefyings and misbegettings��all things in life from the lowest maggot to the fiercest storm��he was out to fight them. In challenging Boarzell he had challenged them all.