"Barrowful" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... to Pennie to hear this, but the truth of it struck her forcibly, and she now saw for the first time that to a stranger the Wilderness might not be very attractive. There were, of course, no flowers now, and Dickie had tumbled a barrowful of leaves on to the middle of Pennie's border, which was further adorned by a heap of oyster shells, with which David intended some day to build a grotto. It looked more like a rubbish heap than a garden, and the close ...
— The Hawthorns - A Story about Children • Amy Walton
... the pots on the ground and cover them with mats. Take them back to the house before the buds begin to move. Shape the trees in winter, and summer prune as may be necessary. They require syringing as well as rich feeding when carrying a crop. A mixture of poultry droppings or night soil (half a barrowful) added to the same amount of sifted soil and of wood ashes, with a peck of soot and a peck of bone dust, all made into a compost a few days before use, is a strong surface-dressing. A layer half an inch thick when the fruit is swelling should be given two or ...
— The Book of Pears and Plums • Edward Bartrum
... Auld Lichts the Sabbath began at six o'clock on Saturday evening. By that time the gleaming shuttle was at rest, Davie Haggart had strolled into the village from his pile of stones in the Whunny road; Hendry Robb, the "dummy," had sold his last barrowful of "rozetty (resiny) roots" for firewood; and the people, having tranquilly supped and soused their faces in their water-pails, slowly donned their Sunday clothes. This ceremony was common to all; but here divergence set in. ...
— Auld Licht Idyls • J.M. Barrie
... the post for yer, I'll be bound, seeing I'm a customer of his." So they give me the letter, and of course I read the direction what was written on it afore I shoved it into the post. And then when I'd sold my barrowful, I was a-goin' 'ome with the chink in my pocket, and I'm blowed if some bloomin' thievin' beggar didn't nick the lot whilst I was just a-wettin' of my whistle, for callin' of oranges is dry work. Nicked the bloomin' lot 'e did—and me with not a farden ...
— The Phoenix and the Carpet • E. Nesbit |
