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Updated: September 15, 2025
He'll go over four hundred. See the tracks? Looks like somebody'd been plowin' up the stones." There were deep tracks in the sand, and broad furrows, and stones overturned, and places where a heavy object had crushed the gravel even and smooth. The old hunter kept striding on, and I wondered bow he could go so fast without running. Presently we came to where the canyon forked.
For Ellen Webster was an aggravating old woman dowered with just enough of the harpy never to be able to leave her antagonist in peace if she saw him at work in his garden. "Mornin', Martin," she would call. "Good mornin', Miss Webster." "So you're plowin' up a new strip of land." "Yes, marm."
Often she stopped to spell out phrases of French or Latin, whereupon Uncle Peabody would exclaim: "Call it 'snags' and go on." The "snags" were numerous in certain of the books we read, in which case Uncle Peabody would exclaim: "Say, that's purty rough plowin'. Mebbe you better move into another field."
He's a terror to work at plowin', cradlin', and bindin', but he ain't no good at chores. I bet yeh he'll leave Mandy to do the milkin', ten cows, and some's awful bad." "And who's Mandy?" enquired Cameron. "Mandy! She's my sister. She's an awful quick milker. She can beat Dad, or Perkins, or any of 'em, but ten cows is a lot, and then there's the pigs and the calves to feed, and the wood, too.
"Yu looks so nice an' cool, an' clean, I didn't know," responded Hopalong, eyeing a streak of sweat and dust which ran from Red's eyes to his chin and then on down his neck. "What yu been doin'? Plowin' with yore nose?" Returned Red, smiling blandly at his friend's appearance. "Yah!" snorted Hopalong, wheeling toward the corral. "Come on, yu pie-eatin' doodle-bug; I'll beat yu to th' gate!"
And, says she, 'men can stop plowin' and plantin' on Sunday, but they don't stop eatin', and as long as men have to eat on Sunday, women'll have to work.
It wuz goin' to devour so much of his time that she wuz afraid she couldn't stand it. And when she was laid up with a lame foot it wuz known that the deacon left his plowin' and went up to the house, or as fur as the door step, four or five times in the course of a mornin's work, it wuz spozed because she wuz fearful of forgettin' how he looked before noon. She is a dretful admirin' woman.
"Aye, aanything in th' world." "Ye won't glunch nor ask questions?" "Not a question." "Shut yer eyes an' stan' close t' th' table." I obeyed. She put into each hand a smooth stick with which Jamie had smoothed the soles of shoes. "Jist for th' now these are the handles of a plow. Keep yer eyes shut tight. Ye've seen a maan plowin' a field?" "Aye." "Think that ye see a long, long field.
Billy worked for three days, and while insisting that he was doing very well, he freely admitted that there was more in plowing than he had thought. Saxon experienced quiet satisfaction when she learned he was enjoying it. "I never thought I'd like plowin' much," he observed. "But it's fine. It's good for the leg-muscles, too.
Why, d'ye know, I've seen him tear by a piece of work, his hands full with that Man-Eater of his a-threatenin' sudden funeral, an', next morning, had 'm mention casually to a half-inch how deep it was plowed an' what plows'd done the plowin'! Take that plowin' of the Poppy Meadow, up above Little Meadow, on Los Cuatos.
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