Say, one of you,” cried Joey, “go and lay that old bed out in the oast—one I had last year for kiln-watching.
Then, on the other side of the moat there is the farm, with barns and oast houses and stables, or things like that.
Good my Oast, lend me a pen and inke, for straightway I will write a letter vnto the poore man, and something I will give him.
