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Updated: May 2, 2025
Others, like the yellow snapdragon and the scarlet poppy, will have none of it, but love a dry and dusty fallow or a cornfield that has run to waste, shimmering with heat and drought. Up the valley of the Pang, you may see acres of poppies on a fallow as scarlet as a field-marshal's coat, and not one in the meadows by the stream.
"I used to follow a walking cultivator across an eighty-acre cornfield," the traveler replied. "Yes, that'll stretch a feller's legs," the bone man admitted, reminiscently. "Nothing like follerin' a plow to give a man legs and wind. But they don't mostly walk around in this country; they kind of suspicion a man when they see him hoofin' it."
Crow was this: He didn't want any one but himself to visit the cornfield. He wanted all the corn for an old gentleman known as Mr. Crow. Sandy Chipmunk liked milk. He never knew it, though, until he chanced to come upon a saucerful which some one had set out on the big flat stone that served as the back doorstep of the farmhouse. Sandy crept up and sniffed at the white liquid in the saucer.
"Here's my farm fifteen acres. We raise most of our own truck." Below the hill a cornfield, now yellow with pumpkins, stretched to the farther road. Nearer the house was a kitchen garden, with an apple orchard beyond. A man in shirtsleeves was milking a cow behind a tiny barn. "I bought this place three years ago for thirty-nine hundred dollars," said my stenographer.
They just look out for their little ones. "Robber Hawk, robber! Shan't touch 'em robber!" she said. Then quick as a wink there was another loud noise, just like that day when Jim Crow fell in the cornfield. "Bang, bang!" Jehosophat, Marmaduke and Hepzebiah jumped. They looked around. There stood the Toyman with the gun at his shoulder.
"Your people seem to be protesting against leaving the place under escort," laughed the other. "The two you left at the camp in the cornfield were not so hard to control." "You seem to have a good knowledge of a our movements," said Ned. "You have a spy system well in hand here." "That is refreshing, as coming from the mouth of a spy," retorted the other.
The 200th was turned into a cornfield, where the men sank over their shoetops in mud, and were ordered to bivouac for the night. The wagons didn't get up at all. How they passed the slowly-dragging hours of that dismal night will not be told at this time. Indeed, bare mention is enough to recall the scene to those who have "been there."
"Grandfather Mole couldn't see a scaremole if he ran head first into it," Mr. Crow continued. "And besides, even if he had eyes to see with, he's working underground. Grandfather Mole has dug galleries that run under the cornfield. And he can get right inside a hill of corn and gobble the seed corn without being seen." "Then how do you know what Grandfather Mole is doing, when you can't see him?"
Then she felt better: for when a little girl doesn't know what is going on, she wants to have hold of something you know how that is yourself. Bob led them out of the corner of the garden; across the small cornfield back of the barn; across the pasture and into the woods beyond.
H. O. changed rods with Dicky because H. O.'s was the best rod, and Dicky baited H. O.'s hook for him, just like loving, unselfish brothers in Sunday School magazines. We were talking fishlikely as we went along down the lane and through the cornfield and the cloverfield, and then we came to the other lane where we had seen the Baby.
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