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Updated: June 11, 2025
Barly, "folks being mostly alike as two peas." Mr. Crabbe spat into the stubble. "The way I look at it," he said, "it's like this: first, there's me; and then there's you. That's the way I look at it, Mr. And he went home to repeat to his wife what he had said to Farmer Barly. "I gave it to him," he declared. In another field, Abner and John Henry, who had been to war, also discussed politics.
And Anna Barly came to my cottage, holding out her apron, full of apples." "My wife, too," said Mr. Tomkins, "put up a great many vegetables." "But to-day," said Mr. Jeminy, "Mrs. Barly and Mrs. Grumble pass each other without speaking. And because we are no longer at war, the bit of land belonging to Ezra Adams, where, last spring, Mrs.
In the meadows the hay, gathered in stacks, shone in the moonlight like little hills of snow; and in the shadows the crickets hopped and sang, repeating with shrill voices, the murmurs of lovers, hidden in the woods. Anna Barly and her friends watched the moon come up along the road to Adams' Forge. In Ezra Adams' haywagon they were singing the harvest in.
They are wasshed euery daye in colde water thrise, and euery nighte twise. All the Egiptians offer in sacrifice, neither cowe, ne cowe calfe, because they are hallowed to Isis their goddesse, but bulles and bulle calues, or oxen, and stieres. For their meate they vse, moche a kynde of pancake, made of rye meale. For lacke of grapes they vse wyne made of Barly.
Barly, closing one eye, and nodding his head a number of times. "There is indeed. But those days are over, Mr. Frye. When I was a child I had the fear of God put into me. It was put into me with a birch rod. But nowadays, Mr. Frye, the children neglect their sums, and grow up wild as nettles. I don't know what they're learning nowadays."
Jeminy, "you believe that God is an old man, insulted by everything. Now he has been insulted by Anna Barly, who did as she had a mind to. Well, well . . ." "No matter," said Mrs. Grumble comfortably, "there's the baby; you can't get around that." "Mrs. Grumble," said Mr. Jeminy earnestly, "I am going to Farmer Barly.
Jeminy rehearsed again the story of long, long ago, while the bright eyes closed, and the tired head drooped lower and lower; while the autumn moon rose up above the hills, and the haywagon rumbled along the road, to the sound of laughter and cries. But Thomas Frye and Anna Barly were no longer seated in the hay, watching the harvest in.
The haywagon crossed the first rise, south of the village. Below the road, a rocky field swept downward to the woods, pale green and silver in the moonlight; and beyond, far off and faint, rose Barly Hill, with Barly's lamp burning as bright for all the distance, as if it hung just over those trees, still, and faint with shadows. "See," said Anna, "there's our light."
Anna Barly, from her room, heard her mother moving in the kitchen, and sat up in bed. The patch-work quilt was fallen on the floor, where it lay as sleepy as its mistress. She tossed her hair back from her face; it spread broad and gold across her shoulders, and the wide sleeves of her nightdress, falling down her arms, bared her round, brown elbows as she caught it up again.
"It's your turn, Mr. F.," said Mr. Crabbe. Mr. Frye looked at the board with distaste. There were no more jumps for him to make. He pushed a round black checker forward. "There you are," he said. "Here I go," declared Mr. Crabbe. And he began hopping again. Mr. Frye shook his head. "I don't know as I'm feeling very good to-day," he told Farmer Barly.
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