Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
I'd leave the pavement and the wall, the too persistent neighbor, and hear the rooster's early call that wakes the world to labor. I'd seek the hayfields whose perfume the jaded heart doth nourish, I'd go where wayside roses bloom and johnny-jump-ups flourish. I'd see the pasture flecked with sheep and mule and colt and heifer, and let my spirit lie asleep upon the twilight zephyr.
And I'M housekeeper here." "Adam was MINE Mrs. Johnson gave him to me. You had no business to touch him," stormed Faith. "Don't you get sassy now. The rooster's killed and there's an end of it. I ain't going to set no strange minister down to a dinner of cold b'iled mutton. I was brought up to know better than that, if I have come down in the world."
Overman grinned, and pierced Gordon with his gleaming eye. "It would be more sensible than the exhibition of brutality you were preparing." "Not from the rooster's point of view, or mine. I love chickens. If I tried to eat one it would choke me.
They approached the other group. There they were arming the cock, they were selecting gaffs for him, and the expert, in fitting them to the rooster's legs, was preparing a piece of red silk. He waxed it and rubbed it over his knee a number of times. Tarsilo gazed at the bird with a sombre air. It seemed that he was not looking at the cock, but at something in the future.
That rooster's got ever so many more'n he wants." "You may have the old feather duster in the garret," said Anne, "and I'll dye them green and red and yellow for you." "You do spoil that boy dreadfully," said Marilla, when Davy, with a radiant face, had followed prim Dora out.
Um-um!" he murmured as he thoughtfully sounded the rooster's well developed chest through the feathers. "From de feelin' of you, my son, I 'spec' you was raise' by one er de ol'es' fam'lies what is!"
Three mallard-ducks, with necks far out and wings beating hurriedly, shot over Carl's head. From far off a gun-shot floated echoing through forest hollows; in the waiting stillness sounded a rooster's crow, distant, magical. "I want to go hunting!" mourned Carl, as he trailed back into the woodshed. It seemed darker than ever and smelled of moldy chips. He bounced like an enraged chipmunk.
Lord Dorking's house is known to have been long impoverished; an excellent informant, Major Pendennis, has entertained me with many edifying accounts of the exploits of Lord Rooster's grandfather "with the wild Prince and Poins," of his feats in the hunting-field, over the bottle, over the dice-box.
"When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock, And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock, And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens, And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best, With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest, As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock, When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
"Well, you and Dora go out and give the hens their wheat," said Marilla. "And don't you try to pull any more feathers out of the white rooster's tail either." "I wanted some feathers for an Injun headdress," said Davy sulkily. "Milty Boulter has a dandy one, made out of the feathers his mother give him when she killed their old white gobbler. You might let me have some.
Word Of The Day