The last bushel was stowed; the tools had been polished and put away. The workers hurried to the tent with barely contained excitement.
The smell quickened their feet again. It was meat, roasted and dripping with juices. At least, that was how each imagined it.
The farmhands poured into the rectangular tent. The food was heaped upon a long table at north end while several kegs of beer were waiting to be tapped at the south.
Despite their eagerness, everyone formed into a line, either for food or beer, and took as much as they could carry, then they feasted.
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