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Back of these figures were other figures, long forgotten but now sharply remembered farm girls who had come to work by the day; tramps who had been fed at the kitchen door; young farm hands who suddenly disappeared from the routine of the farm's life and were never seen again, a young man with a red bandana handkerchief about his neck who had thrown her a kiss as she stood with her face pressed against a window.
The farm's about three miles from the station, and we'll reach home after supper. Pap'll be settin' out on the front porch, smokin', and readin' the Cincinnati Gazette, and mother'll be settin' beside him knittin', and the girls'll be clearin' away the supper things. My, won't they be surprised to see us! Won't there be a time! And won't mother and the girls fly around to git us something to eat!
Stayed up in the country a week to look after it while I was dickerin' down here.... Like to buy that farm?" There was no answer. "Calculate to take a hint from Mr. Linderman. That farm's mine, and you can't haul a log acrost it. My price is fifteen thousand. Bought it for two. Price goes up hunderd dollars a minute. Cash deal."
"The credit of the farm's coming back." She repeated the words to herself in a whisper. What a grand thing if she, Lilac White, had helped to bring back the credit of the farm! At this point in her reflections the white horse appeared at the door, and Lilac and all her belongings were lifted up into the cart.
She was sitting in an old, much-repaired rocking-chair, in what was obviously the farm's "best" bedroom. Her trunks, faithfully recovered from the wreck of the cart by the only too willing Buck, stood open on the floor amidst a chaotic setting of their contents, while the old farm-wife herself stood over them, much in the attitude of a faithful and determined watch-dog.
But Sally, in her innocence, remarked: "Oh Mark! that isn't right." "I suppose it isn't. But maybe you've got to wish for more than you get, in order to get what you do. I guess I take things pretty easy, on the whole, for it's nobody's nature to be entirely satisfied. Gilbert, will you be satisfied when your farm's paid for?"
Of course the neighbours disapprove, they've got very strict notions round here as to woman's sphere and all that sort of thing." "Godden? Which farm's that?" "Little Ansdore just across the Ditch, in Pedlinge parish. It's a big place, and I like her for taking it on." "And for any other reason?" "Lord, no!
Upon the farm's drawn blinds the morning glowed; And down the valley, with little clucks and rills, The dancing waters danced by dancing daffodils. But if, consciously or unconsciously, Mr. Masefield in the composition of The Daffodil Fields followed the metre and the manner of Wordsworth in Resolution and Independence, in the story itself he challenges Tennyson's Enoch Arden.
A couple of months on the farm will do all of my nieces good. Beth is still with Louise, you know, and they must find the city deadly dull, just now. The farm's the thing. And the Major can run up to see us for a couple of weeks in the hot weather, and we'll all have a glorious, lazy time." "And we can take Mary along to do the cooking," suggested Patsy, entering into the idea enthusiastically.
To-morrow you and I will go down into the valley, seek the unappetizin' rock he rejected and look it over." "I think most likely," said Joan, "the farm's built on it." And then the sound of the horn came over the water and Joan ran. Kenny as usual cursed the horn. With the valley filled with the first haze of twilight and the hills still aglow, Kenny sat on the farm porch and brooded.
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