United States or Turkmenistan ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
The folks at Beatonville won't believe me when I tell 'em. But say, if ever you folks come out there, we'll give you a right good time at Oak Farm!" he added, generously. "Is your farm a large one?" asked the manager. "Hundred and sixty acres. Some woodland, some flat, a lot of it hilly and stony, and part with a big creek on it." "Hum," mused Mr. Pertell. "That sounds interesting.
He might have hurt someone probably would have if it hadn't been for this chap. What's your name?" he asked the young farmer. "Sandy Apgar." "And where do you live?" "On Oak Farm." "Never heard of the place," went on the officer, with a smile. "Oh, that's the name of our farm. It's jest outside the town of Beatonville, about forty miles back in Jersey." "Oh, Jersey!" laughed the officer.
"Guess you wouldn't want to do any cartin' as far as Beatonville," laughed Sandy. "Folks out there don't ever move they jest die and are buried in the same place. And I guess this is my last trip to New York in a long while. I'm jest as much obliged though," and patting the nose of the now quieted horse, he moved off through the thinning crowd. But he was not to escape unnoticed. Mr.
He described Beatonville to them, and the farm where he and his aged parents tried to wrest a living from nature that was none too kind. "I've had quite a little vacation since I come to New York," Sandy said, "though it did take quite a bit of money. I reckon pop, though, will be disappointed that I can't bring back with me the promise of some cash."
Word Of The Day