This afternoon, the forecast was for perfect sowing weather. He escorted everybody out to show them what to do (apart from Mr Mayhood, who was stuck indoors with paperwork for a surveying job, or so he claimed). They heaved the corn drill through the yard and hitched it to the tractor. They attached an old chain harrow behind that, and Florence had to smear a bit of axle grease into the drawbar where the hooks were nearly rusted through to get it dragging straight. Then he told her to get up and take the wheel so he could ride the corn drill. ‘Someone’s got to make sure that the seeds are broadcast nice and even, and the harrow’s got to cover them – about this much of earth is what we’re looking for.’ After a few passes, he intended to jump off and let the youngsters have a turn. That way, she could get a close-up view of how they worked, and then she’d understand what he’d been telling her.

But wouldn’t you just know it? The Lord had other plans.

With the fine job she’d done fixing up the tractor, well, it should’ve come as no surprise to him that Florence was a skilful driver, too. She handled that machine far better than he ever could, going at an ideal pace, no jolts or swerving. But what happened next was unexpected. Her manner with the youngsters changed all of a sudden: she dropped the friendly stable-girl approach and started talking like the stable owner. She didn’t ask for Hollis’s opinion or permission either, she just beckoned Charlie over as they came back to the south end of the field. ‘Come and take the wheel from me,’ she said, ‘and keep it steady – we’re not at the Monte Carlo rally. Straight lines up and down, that’s it. You hear?’ The boy, a little startled, nodded and climbed on. But didn’t he just prove himself to be a natural? Making smooth, tight turns before the drainage ditch and barely taking a glance down to line up the back tyres with the furrow edges. He made Hollis look a fool for doubting him. So, on the seventh pass, he shouted to the boy, ‘Oi, Charlie – wait a mo! Let’s get your sister.’

Hopping off the corn drill, he trudged across the apron of the field to speak to Joyce. ‘Take my place up there, will you? It’s time you rolled your sleeves up and got mucky.’

‘All right. If I have to.’

‘Follow me.’ When she was up there on the little platform with her boot heels on the edge, he passed on his instructions. ‘Keep your eyes down on those chutes and watch for anything that gets clogged up,’ he said. ‘And if it does, you take this stick right here and give it a stiff prod until it falls away. Another thing to watch for is those coulters – see them? Make sure they stay fixed right where they are. If any of them break, you let me know. You get all that?’