Soon
will the city boarders go out to the country where they want the freshest milk
and eggs, and butter, cream and air; and when they find they’re not upon the
table comes the night, they ask the farmer or his wife in manner most polite. And
he will say “We’re sorry, folks, they’s somethin’ gone dead wrong, we’ve
ordered from the city, but they hevn’t got along.”
c.
June 22, ‘09
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