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Updated: May 4, 2025
Dean nobody ever makes coffee like you can at a picnic. Now, if it's ready, I think everything else is; well, it soon will be with such a fire, and the corn's not done, anyway. Do you think the sun'll get round so as to shine on the table? I see it's creeping this way pretty fast, and they're all so scattered over the woods there's no telling when we will get every one here to eat.
"'Tain't healthy for Indians about here," she answered carelessly, "I hain't ever seen one. I guess it's allowed; anyhow, the corn's there an' father'll have it cut right soon." It seemed to Bancroft that they had not a thought in common. Wrong done by her own folk did not even interest her.
As I was saying, there'd be something about a horse, or the country, or the spring weather it's just coming in now, and the Indian corn's shooting after the rain, and I'LL never see it; or they'd put in a bit about the cows walking through the river in the hot summer afternoons; or they'd go describing about a girl, until I began to think of sister Aileen again; then I'd run my head against the wall, or do something like a madman, and they'd stop the books for a week; and I'd be as miserable as a bandicoot, worse and worse a lot, with all the devil's tricks and bad thoughts in my head, and nothing to put them away.
It was so tiresome always to be outdone, and he would like to have found room for a parenthesis about his own exploits. "I say, there's a big load of corn in the cabman's gateway," he said, to show that he too understood country life. "That's not corn," said Pelle; "it's hay clover hay. Don't you even know what corn's like?"
Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear! With it, the Cyane blue intertwine! Rapture must render each glance bright and clear, For the great queen is approaching her shrine, She who our homesteads so blissful has given, She who has man to his fellow-man bound: Let our glad numbers extol then to heaven, Her who the earth's kindly mother is found!
"We're ahead of time," said Joel with a quiet air of triumph, as the last load of stays reached the corral site. "If we only knew the plans, we might dig the post-holes. The corn's still growing, and it won't do to cut until it begins to ripen until the sugar rises in the stock. We can't turn another wheel until Mr. Paul returns." Idleness was galling to Joel Wells.
It was so tiresome always to be outdone, and he would like to have found room for a parenthesis about his own exploits. "I say, there's a big load of corn in the cabman's gateway," he said, to show that he too understood country life. "That's not corn," said Pelle; "it's hay clover hay. Don't you even know what corn's like?"
Next summer, about the time of the corn's coming into ear, ten Syracusan and as many Locrian vessels sailed to Messina, in Sicily, and occupied the town upon the invitation of the inhabitants; and Messina revolted from the Athenians.
"Yes; good cover's scarce, and if the birds are disturbed they move down to Rafton Woods. For a sporting neighbor, Hayton hardly plays the game. To put down corn is, of course, allowable, but he uses damaged raisins!" "Then you don't feed?" "Very little," Osborn replied. "Corn's too dear. The Tarnside pheasants live on the country." "I expect that really means they live on the farmers!"
The cotton-fields were whitening, and the yellow corn's pendant ears hung heavily from their supporting stocks. Fat cattle in the shade of the great trees switched away the teasing flies as they lazily ruminated. The crows were cawing and stealing from their bursting shells the rich pecan nuts, and the black-birds flew in great flocks over the fields.
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