Jane lighted a lantern and made ready to do her part, and there was much to do. She must leave John alone while she rode about the neighborhood to notify the men who had promised to help. She was nearly ready when a knock sounded at the door and she opened it to find a young man on the threshold. “Is this Mrs. Grahame?” he inquired. At Jane’s nod, he continued: “The boss told me to say that he had made all the arrangements and you will have nothing to do. We have all had supper, and the cook-car will be here for breakfast.” “Thank you very much, and thank Mr. Kinear for me,” replied Jane. “And please tell him I will have teams here to take the grain and--” “I was supposed to tell you about that too,” he broke in. “The boss sent his car down here ahead and notified everybody that we should start at daybreak. He has two trucks himself, and there are two more working with the rig, so he thought that maybe, as long as Mr. Grahame won’t be able to do much work this winter, he had better send the flax right to the elevator from the machine, leaving only what you will want for seed here. Good night,” he said, and turned to go, then came back again: “Another thing, I was to tell you that if enough teams turned up to help on the long haul, he is going to thresh right here in the yards so you can have the straw for feed and for windbreak this winter.” Never in all her life had Jane experienced such a feeling of intense gratitude as that which swept over her when she realized that there was no worry, nothing for her to do but care for her husband; and back in his room, she talked and watched by turns until the light in the haymow was blown out and she knew the men were asleep--all but the man on the water tank, who sat slouched forward in his seat, wrapped in the folds of a heavy sheepskin coat. A breeze came from the east, and she was thankful, for it meant the flax would be dry enough to thresh at daybreak. Sometimes, after a quiet night, it would be too tough to thresh until near noon the next day. John reached out and took his wife’s hand. “Kind of looks, honey, as though we might win the last round, after all.” * * * * * An hour later Jane could hear the rattle of gears running loose on the downhill slope, and in a few minutes the big engine turned in at the gate. Halfway across the yard it stopped, and a man ran back to pull the pin between separator and tender. Then the engine came on with only the separator. At the expense of much snorting and chugging, the cumbersome separator was finally wheeled into position, where it settled with a thud into the holes already dug for its hind wheels. The engine then cut loose, and turning so as to face the separator, backed toward the house far enough to allow for the long drive-belt; there it stopped, and soon the yard was quiet again except for the low whine of imprisoned steam.