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Updated: June 8, 2025
The gift of a feather bed is rather interesting, too, when you consider that it is the daughter who has raised the geese, plucked them, and made the bed-tick. But "father" gives it to her just the same. The son, for a corresponding term of service, gets a farm. There was a rich farmer once, who died possessed of three very fine farms of three hundred and twenty acres each.
Across the stout oak table in the middle of the room was thrown a mass of striped linen, which Grandfer Cantle held down on one side, and Humphrey on the other, while Fairway rubbed its surface with a yellow lump, his face being damp and creased with the effort of the labour. "Waxing a bed-tick, souls?" said the newcomer. "Yes, Sam," said Grandfer Cantle, as a man too busy to waste words.
I'd start the very first thing tomorrow to see the world over again! But seventy-one, though nothing at home, is a high figure for a rover....Ay, seventy-one, last Candlemasday. Gad, I'd sooner have it in guineas than in years!" And the old man sighed. "Don't you be mournful, Grandfer," said Fairway. "Empt some more feathers into the bed-tick, and keep up yer heart.
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