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Maurice sank weakly down against a tree trunk, and groaned. "I'm growin' fifteen," said Billy gravely. "Me an' Ann's been goin' together fer quite a long spell." "What's more, Ma, that ol' horse is goin' to stay right where he is, belly-deep in clover, till it gets so cold we'll have to stable him. Then he's goin' to have all the good hay an' oats he wants.".
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Conrad
The Admiral sat at table before a meal that betokened total neglect on his part of all thought of digestion. The dinner in short, so far as it had been served, consisted of a round of boiled beef, carrots and turnips, and a dish of potatoes smoking in their jackets, a stout loaf of black crust, a dish of fine yellow butter, and at Sir William's elbow was a silver mug with a thick glass bottom, just filled foaming to the brim from a cask of the very best ale at that time brewed in England, and in those days a glass of fine ale was a more delicious draught, more thirst-quenching, more appealing to all the secret feelings of the interior than the finest liquor that has been drunk since, call it what you will. "Bill, watch out!" warned Maurice. "There's a big womper coiled on that lily-root. You're makin' right fer it." "An' did they find it?" gasped Billy. "I'll be with you in a minute. She is too far off, I suppose, for the glass to resolve her.".
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