I was baking, a thing I dearly liked. Most of the work I did was men’s work, and baking seemed so light and pleasant after it I liked to see the dough rising afore the big red fire, and to get the oven ready with burning wood, raking out the ash after, and setting the loaves in rows. It was pleasant to be in the warm, glowing kitchen, full of the good smell of bread, and to look out at the grey-white fields and woods, cold and lonesome, and then to draw the curtain, and kindle the rushlight, setting the table and p…
Reader notes
Loading reader notes…