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Updated: June 23, 2025
The sum of his discontent plunged him into a black temper in which he rehearsed the details of his morning's misadventure with growing spleen and wished sincerely that Silas would appear again and roar at him. And, then, gingerly descending the rickety steps, Kenny remembered that the corncrib was his. His . . . and not his. For he could not take it with him. It was a tantalizing thought.
They unfastened all the ropes but the one about his neck, pulled him out of the wagon, dragged him off to the log corncrib, shoved him in, untied the rope, and bolted the door. Then the burly man shoved in a pone of cornbread and a pan of water. "You go to town to-morrow, Sam," he said as he rebolted the door. "Just hang around and listen.
+667+. The Greeks had such divine patrons of the corncrib, beans, plowshare, cattle, city walls, banquets, potters, physicians, athletic contests, and even one hero known as the "frightener of horses" and a deity called the "flycatcher." +668+. The Romans carried out this specialization in even greater detail.
It was in 1869 that General Toombs made one of his great speeches at the State fair in Columbus, in the course of which he used this expression; "The farmers of Georgia will never enjoy general prosperity until they quit making the West their corncrib and smokehouse."
"Neow ef I may be so bold", said Tom, "I wouldn't go anyst the cussed court. It's nothin' at all, but the meanness and envy o' that rowdy priest over the river there. He's jest mad, cos the people come over here to git fodder instid o' goin' to his empty corncrib. They like to hear yer talk better than they do him, and that's the hull on it.
And there was so much "game," as he called it, about the farm buildings that he thought it was silly to leave it for such scamps as Peter Mink and Tommy Fox and Fatty Coon. So he took to loitering near Farmer Green's corncrib. And he was not at all pleased to find Fatty Coon there one evening.
"Never mind, Shorty," said the Deacon, pityingly; "I'll manage to find you something that'll be better for you than that stuff." The Surgeon had the boys carried over to the corncrib, and the Deacon went to work to make it as snug as possible.
True, he had all sorts of tasks that he heartily despised, washing dishes, kneading dough, sweeping and dusting, all under the critical old lady's exacting supervision. But he preferred even that to being sent off to school alone every day. One evening, just about sundown, he was out in the corncrib, shelling corn for the large flock of turkeys they were fattening for market.
He wouldn't have spoken to Fatty at all had not that plump young chap hurled a cutting remark directly at him: "There are no chickens in this building. This is a corncrib." "Don't you suppose I know that?" Grumpy retorted. "I've come here to guard the corn from mice and squirrels." "There's no need of your doing that," Fatty Coon told him.
Sneezing violently he sat down and ate his supper of bread and cheese with profound discontent. Each tasted monotonously of the other. Instead of two articles of diet he appeared to have something heterogeneously one in flavor. The smell of cheese he hoped wouldn't attract rats and remembered vaguely that a corncrib was architecturally immune from rodents.
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