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Updated: May 5, 2025
"How'd it be to begin harvestin'?" queried Jerry. "Thet wheat's ripe." "No combines should be risked in there until we're sure the danger's past," replied Olsen. "There! I see more of our neighbors comin' down the road. We're goin' to beat the I.W.W." That galvanized Kurt into action and he found himself dragging Jerry back to the barns.
"My boy, there are multitudes of irrational men nowadays and the number is growing.... I advise you to go at once to Wheatly and bring your father home. It was openly said that he was taking risks with that large sum of money." "Risks! Why, I can't understand that. The wheat's not harvested yet, let alone hauled to town.
Pat had already gone forth with the bundle of handbills; he was not only waking up the town, but touring the country in horse and buggy, was agitating the farmers for the show boat was to stay at least two nights at Bethlehem. "And we ought to do pretty well," said Burlingham. "The wheat's about all threshed, and there's a kind of lull. The hayseeds aren't so dead tired at night.
The command was in superb condition, and a four-gun battery from Bedford county, Virginia, Captain Bowyer, had recently been added to it. The four regiments, 6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th Louisiana, would average above eight hundred bayonets. Of Wheat's battalion of "Tigers" and the 7th I have written.
The wheat's kernin' somethin' cruel fine I awnly wish theer was more of it an' the sheep an' cattle's in braave kelter likewise. Then the orchard do promise no worse. I never seed such a shaw of russets an' of quarantines 'pon they old trees afore." "'Tis a fine, fair season." "Why, so I say a 'mazin' summer thus far but what's the reason o't?
I whispered to a man that I was a little tired of a three days' tyranny of Wheat, besides being shocked at farmers who used clean bright straw for fuel, and made bonfires of their chaff-hills. 'You're 'way behind the times, said he. 'There's fruit and dairying and any quantity of mixed farming going forward all around let alone irrigation further West. Wheat's not our only king by a long sight.
God help us! What will she do in the long drizzle in the fall, when the wheat's spoilin' in the shock maybe, and the house is dark, and her man's away what will she do?" Mrs. Brydon spent many happy hours that summer at the Stopping-House, and soon Mrs. Corbett knew all the events of her past life; the sympathetic understanding of the Irish woman made it easy for her to tell many things.
"For my part," said Jonas, turning to Andrew, "it don't seem like as ef it was much use to holler and make a furss about the corn crap when October's fairly sot in, and the frost has nipped the blades. All the plowin' and hoein' and weedin' and thinnin' out the suckers won't, better the yield then. An' when wheat's ripe, they's nothin' to be done fer it. It's got to be rep jest as it stan's.
"There's half-a-dozen more of them outside," he said. "Do you buy or sell?" Winston laughed. "I want to know which a wise man would do." "Well," said Graham, "I can't tell you. The bulls rushed wheat up as I wired you, but the other folks got their claws in and worried it down again. Wheat's anywhere and nowhere all the time, and I'm advising nobody just now.
"You have a good countenance; there is something in your face. I could find it in my heart to tell you, but I should bore you." "De'el a fear! Bore me, bore me! wheat's thaat, I wonder?" "What is your name, madam? Mine is Ipsden." "They ca' me Christie Johnstone." "Well, Christie Johnstone, I am under the doctor's hands." "Puir lad. What's the trouble?" "Ennui!" "Yawn-we? I never heerd tell o't."
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