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Updated: June 23, 2025
Fan out, be eyes and ears for the column moving into the Paris pike. Croxton's grin had no humor in it as they turned aside into a field to make better time away from the cluttered highway. "Looks like the butter's spread a mite thin on the bread this time," he commented. "But the General's sure playin' it like he has all the aces in hand. Which way to sniff out a Yankee?"
Biugham's many whimsicalities. "I s'pose you can smell he's a thief, just as you can tell when it's goin' to rain, or the butter's comin', by the smell." "Well, you needn't laugh, Lincoln. I can," maintained the old lady stoutly. "An' I ain't goin' to put a red cent o my money mto his pocket-f'r there's where it 'ud go to."
The next morning Susan came to me with a pleased countenance and said, "I put the butter and the milk in that pit last night, and the butter's just as hard and the milk's as sweet as if it had been kept in an ice-house. But the place is as cold as an ice-house, sir, and unless I am mistaken, there's ice in it. Anyway, what do you call that?"
Pony brought his bread-and-butter the next day. Jim said he intended to bring some hard-boiled eggs, but his mother kept looking, and he had no chance. "Let's see whether the butter's sweet, because if it ain't the provisions will spoil before we can get off." He took a bite, and he said, "My, that's nice!" and the first thing he knew he ate the whole piece up.
Vitamin-rich butter's color is naturally bright yellow, almost orange. This color does not come from a test tube. Pale yellow butter as is found in the commercial trade was probably almost white before it was artificially tinted. Butter from grass-pastured cows naturally changes from yellow-orange to white and back again through the year as the seasons change.
So Lilac got no praise and no thanks for what she did, and though she found satisfaction in turning out the butter well for its own sake, this was not quite enough. A very small word or look would have contented her. Once when her uncle said: "The butter's good this week," she thought her aunt must speak, and glanced eagerly at her, but Mrs Greenways turned her head another way and no words come.
Awake, arise, O language living in chains; let Butter's spelling be our Bastille! So with a prophetic vision of liberated words pouring out of the dungeons of a spelling-book, this plea for freedom concludes. What trivial arguments there are for a uniform spelling I must leave the reader to discover. This is no place to carp against the liberation I foresee, with the glow of the dawn in my eyes.
Mrs Greenways put a small basket into her hand before she started, into which she had packed a chicken, a pot of honey, and a pat of fresh butter. "There," she said, "that's a little something from Orchards Farm, tell him. The chick's our own rearing, and the honey's from Peter's bees, and the butter's fresh this morning."
Slick, I'm in a considerable of a hurry to katch the Packet, have you any commands for Sow West? I'm goin to the Island, and across the Bay to Windsor. Any word that way? No says Mr. Allen, none that I can think on, unless it be to enquire how butter's goin; they tell me cheese is down, and proDUCE of all kind particular dull this fall.
"It seems a shame," the Walrus said, "To play them such a trick, After we've brought them out so far, And made them trot so quick." The carpenter said nothing, but "The butter's spread too thick." A telegram arrived from Frank, in the midst of the preparations on Wednesday, announcing that 'he was all right, and should be at Hazlitt's Gate at 8.10 p.m.
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