“All the sheaves of wheat had stood in the fields to dry for three weeks and then had been brought to the stack yard. Threshing would go on through the winter months, a little at a time on each farm in turn, but now it was time to think of celebrating a harvest safely gathered in. ‘I understand it’s a tradition that the squire should host the harvest supper in the big barn at the manor.’ ‘Huh!’ Osbert grunted. ‘A waste of good money, if you ask me. We never go.’ ‘But I’d very much like you and M...iss Charlotte to come this year. I believe all your workers attend.’ ‘Aye, they do,’ Osbert said bitterly. ‘And a fat lot of use they are for work the next day after all that free beer.’ Miles sighed, thinking the man had a very Scrooge-like attitude, even though it wasn’t Christmas. But maybe he had the same outlook on those festivities, too. ‘Well, I’m sorry you feel that way,’ he began, but, suddenly, Osbert smiled. ‘Your sons will all be there, I take it?’ ‘I hope so.’ ‘Hmm.’ There was a pause before Osbert said, ‘In that case, I’ll be glad to come.’ ‘And Miss Charlotte?’ ‘No.’ His mouth was a hard line.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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