text_original: It must have been the next afternoon, about four, that the rough stockade of Harrodstown greeted our eyes as we stole cautiously to the edge of the forest. And the sight of no roofs and spires could have been more welcome than that of these logs and cabins, broiling in the midsummer sun.
text_transcription: IT MUST HAVE BEEN THE NEXT AFTERNOON ABOUT FOUR THAT THE ROUGH STOCKADE OF HERODSTOWN GREETED OUR EYES AS WE STOLE CAUTIOUSLY TO THE EDGE OF THE FOREST AND THE SIGHT OF NO ROOFS AND SPIRES COULD HAVE BEEN MORE WELCOME THAN THAT OF THOSE LOGS AND CABINS DRAWLING IN THE MIDSUMMER SUN
phonemes: ɪt mˈʌstɐv bˌɪn ðə nˈɛkst ˌæftɚnˈuːn, ɐbˌaʊt fˈɔːɹ, ðætðə ɹˈʌf stˈɑːkeɪd ʌv hˈæɹədstˌaʊn ɡɹˈiːɾᵻd ˌaʊɚɹ ˈaɪz æz wiː stˈoʊl kˈɔːʃəsli tə ðɪ ˈɛdʒ ʌvðə fˈɔːɹɪst. ænd ðə sˈaɪt ʌv nˈoʊ ɹˈuːfs ænd spˈaɪɚz kˌʊdɐv bˌɪn mˈɔːɹ wˈɛlkʌm ðɐn ðæt ʌv ðiːz lˈɔɡz ænd kˈæbɪnz, bɹˈɔɪlɪŋ ɪnðə mˈɪdsʌmɚ sˈʌn.