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MacGill, Patrick, 1889-1960

"The Red Horizon"


In one corner was the field-cooker. The cooks were busy making dixies
of bully beef stew. Their clothes were dirty and greasy, so were their
arms, bare from the shoulders almost, and taut with muscles. (p. 221)
Through a path that wound amongst a medley of agricultural instruments,
ploughs harrows and grubbers, the farmer's daughter came striding like
a ploughman, two children hanging on to her apron strings. A stretcher
leant against our water-cart, and dried clots of blood were on its
shafts. The farmer's dog lay panting on the midden, his red tongue
hanging out and saliva dropping on the dung, overhead the swallows
were swooping and flying in under the eaves where now and again they
nested for a moment before getting up to resume their exhilirating
flight. A dirty barefooted boy came in through the large entrance-gate
leading a pair of sleepy cows with heavy udders which shook backwards
and forwards as they walked. The horns of one cow were twisted, the
end of one pointed up, the end of the other pointed down.
One of Section 4's boys was looking at the cow.
"The ole geeser's 'andlebars is twisted," said Bill, addressing nobody
in particular and alluding to the cow.
"It's 'orns, yer fool!" said Section 4.
"Yer fool, yerself!" said Bill. "I'm not as big a fool as I look----"
"Git! Your no more brains than a 'en." (p. 222)
"Nor 'ave you either," said Bill.
"I've twice as many brains, as you," said Section 4.


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