Harvest cut and run
The sound of the tractor and binder had been creeping through my window during the morning — a purring, almost a seductive, sound. The mere noise of it urged me to be away with the gun, down beside the oat field where Farmer Jones was making his first cut of the year. However, I thought, these oats do not hold many rabbits — well, not enough to justify my leaving the daily task. So I sat on until it was time for lunch.
Up at The Cart and Horses for my preprandial pint, Harry Edlin, the landlord, said: “Better get your gun down on old Jones’ bit.” But I shook my head and replied that these oats would not hold many rabbits. Instead, as soon as the
