1 We decided that Antonia should ride Dude home, and I would walk.
2 We had to walk the pony all the way home to keep from spilling the milk.
3 They hauled him home and put him into his bed, and there he lay, very ill indeed.
4 We did not talk about the farm in Virginia, which had been her home for so many years.
5 I said I would go with her until we could see Squaw Creek, and then turn and run home.
6 'Down to the kitchen' struck me as curious; it was always 'out in the kitchen' at home.
7 It was always mournful to see them come flying home at sunset and disappear under the earth.
8 Antonia and her father went off hand in hand, and I buttoned up my jacket and raced my shadow home.
9 I had heard our neighbours laughing when they told how Peter always had to go home at night to milk his cow.
10 He had brought his fiddle with him, which wouldn't be of much use here, though he used to pick up money by it at home.
11 She told me that in her village at home there was an old beggar woman who went about selling herbs and roots she had dug up in the forest.
12 They were always ready to forget their troubles at home, and to run away with me over the prairie, scaring rabbits or starting up flocks of quail.
13 The new country lay open before me: there were no fences in those days, and I could choose my own way over the grass uplands, trusting the pony to get me home again.
14 Sometimes I rode north to the big prairie-dog town to watch the brown earth-owls fly home in the late afternoon and go down to their nests underground with the dogs.
15 When Antonia and her father got into the wagon, I entreated grandmother to let me go with them: I would gladly go without my supper, I would sleep in the Shimerdas' barn and run home in the morning.
16 Once, while he was looking at Antonia, he sighed and told us that if he had stayed at home in Russia perhaps by this time he would have had a pretty daughter of his own to cook and keep house for him.
17 He had probably lived there for years, with a fat prairie-dog for breakfast whenever he felt like it, a sheltered home, even an owl-feather bed, perhaps, and he had forgot that the world doesn't owe rattlers a living.
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