Explore "A Deal in Odd Volumes" by J.S. Fletcher on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was baking-day at Low Meadow Farm, and the kitchen being rendered unusually hot by the fact that it was also a blazing afternoon in July, Mrs. Maidment, in the intervals of going to the oven, sat in a stout elbow-chair at the kitchen door and fanned herself with her apron. She was a comfortably built lady of at least fifty, and heat told upon her, as she had remarked several times since breakfast. Her placid, moon-like countenance, always rosy, was now as fiery as a winter afternoon's sun, and when she was not fanning herself she mopped her brow with one of her late husband's handkerchiefs, which she had taken from a drawer in the press as being larger than her own, and therefore more suitable for the purpose.
While she sat at the door Mrs. Maidment glanced at the prospect before her -- at the garden, the orchard, the fields beyond where the crops were already whitening to harvest. Her thoughts were of a practical nature.