What gall! Some peasants useth Hallow's Eve as none but a tyme to showeth off their un-peasantly wealth. Rather than accepting that we all art poor and shan't afforde more than a handful of rye to giveth out on Hallow' s Eve, some useth their moste fortunate lucke during the growing season to flaunt their bountiful harvest.
That beeth exactly what Mr. "My Crops Weren't Ravaged By Trolls This Year" next door ist doing by giving out full-size barley sacks to all the little peasantlings in the village.
Just because his plot of lande escaped the burning and looting of the wood trolls this year he thinketh he beeth so rich. It maketh the reste of the village seem pale in comparison when all we can give the children is a stalk o' wheat or a ha'slice o' turnip.
If this largesse doth not stoppe soon, we shalt become like our noble masters, constantly competing amongst rival castles as to whomst can handeth out the biggest swords and torture devices for Hallow's Eve.
Nay, not us lowbornes. Our place is to giveth out paltry treats that reflect our paltry place in this lyfe. That beeth what Hallow's Eve is about in Peasanton.