On this particular day an almanac would not have been needed to prove to the visitor at the Shindle Farm that winter was near at hand. The wide-spreading trees leading from the road to the low-studded house, which made up in breadth what it lacked in height, had already put on their autumnal dress of crimson, gold, and brown, embroidered here and there with green left over from the last summer’s wardrobe. The enormous barn was crowded to overflowing with fruits of the harvest. Mows were heaped high with sweet-scented hay, and the corn-bins filled almost to bursting. The granaries seemed to groan under their heavy burdens, and the sleek cattle, noting the lack of grass in the pastures, looke…
Or read it translated: 日本語 · 中文 · हिन्दी · Español · العربية · Français · বাংলা · Português · Русский · Bahasa Indonesia · اردو · Deutsch · Kiswahili · 한국어