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Updated: June 7, 2025
"To be sure, if the thing don't work, we'll have plenty of feed without it, indeed," Barney conceded. Nelse Jensen, Signa's gloomy suitor, had his word. "Lou, he says he wouldn't have no silo on his place if you'd give it to him. He says the feed outen it gives the stock the bloat. He heard of somebody lost four head of horses, feedin' 'em that stuff."
It is well for this little man's peace of mind that the dispersion was an accomplished fact before he made his appearance. The Jersey cattle would have been winked at, and the silo regarded as an object of curiosity; but the eye-glasses and the bob-tailed coat would not have been tolerated. But if Pinetucky had its peculiarities, it also had its advantages.
"Some people in town have them," Arethusa came quickly to the defence of her county, "but it's nobody I really know. Timothy was going to get one, but his silo blew down and he couldn't this summer; because he put up a concrete one in its place and it cost so much." "Who is Timothy?" "Why, Timothy is.... Why, Timothy.... He's just Timothy Jarvis ... Father."
Of course, we'll want to build the silo, too, at the same time, and you better make a list of the materials required for that. You and your Aunt Bettie can talk over the details and arrange the matter between you." "All right, Uncle Joe; we'll take care of it," said Bob, "and have the list ready for you in a few days.
Both on the Baron's place and at Cotswold long shelter-sheds were being erected for winter protection; and at Cotswold, whose larger size warranted the establishment of a more extensive plant, the firm had put in a small stationary engine to cut the feed, and was building a silo for the preservation of the winter supplies.
"Hooray!" cried Phil, twisting the rope about one leg and waving a hand to those below him. They drew a long, relieved sigh. The farmers, one after the other, took off their hats and mopped their foreheads. "Warm, isn't it?" grinned the owner of the silo. "Now, pass up your brush and paste on this rope." Phil had brought a small rope with him for this very purpose.
Gee, I wish you could have seen that hole. Because you can't make a hole on a map. It was about fifty feet deep and about thirty feet wide, I guess, and it was all walled in with masonry. It looked like a great well. Bert thought it had something to do with the farm that used to be there, because quite near it, there was an old foundation. Maybe it was some kind of a silo, I don't know.
Phil hurried back to the road, where Billy and the wagon were waiting. The lad's feet felt lighter than usual. "Well, what luck?" demanded Billy. "I may be a poor apology as a billposter, but as a diplomat I'm a winner, Billy." "You you don't mean you got the silo?" gasped Conley.
The building he had indicated was a tall circular structure, painted a dark red, with a small cupola effect crowning its top. "That is a silo. You wouldn't be able to get permission to post a bill on there, even if you could get up there to do it," said Conley. "Why not?" "Why not? Why that farmer, I'll wager, sets as much store by that building as he does his newly-painted house."
The revolt ran through the peninsula like the flame through the steppe. The brave and numerous people of the Marsians took the lead, in connection with the small but hardy confederacies in the Abruzzi the Paeligni, Marrucini, Frentani, and Vestini. The brave and sagacious Quintus Silo, already mentioned, was here the soul of the movement.
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