The cow yard was large. Not length and breadth alone determined its dimensions, it had height and depth also. Above it continually hovered the spirit of maternity. Its good earth floor, hardened by many feet, pulsed with rich growth wherever there was any protection from the perpetual movement over its surface. Across the ample width of the Cow Yard, the old Barn and the New Barn faced each other. Both were old, but one…
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All our Sundays were exactly alike. They began on Saturday night after Bong the Chinaboy had washed up and gone away, after our toys, dolls and books, all but “The Peep of Day” and Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress had been stored away in drawers and boxes till Monday, and every Bible and prayer-book in the house was puffing itself out, looking more important every minute. Then the clothes-horse came galloping into the kitchen and straddled…