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Such loans have been known, like the Eastlake screen in Stockton's story, to revolutionize the arrangement of the household. Then, too, a picture often conveys a lesson more effectively than a sermon can. Mrs. Barnett tells, in "Practicable Socialism," of a loan exhibition in Whitechapel, where Oxford students acted as guides and explained the pictures. "Mr.
Remaining at this camp until Sunday, March 16th, we moved our quarters two miles south of the city, on the Franklin Pike, and near the Tennessee and Alabama Railroad. We here pitched our tents, on a high ridge between the railroad and turnpike. Colonel Barnett named it Camp Brownlow, in honor of that sterling old patriot, Parson Brownlow.
At that moment he turned, and there, a hundred yards away, was John Grange coming along to his dinner, erect, and walking at a fair pace along the green walk, touching the side from time to time with his stick so as to keep in the centre. The idea came like a flash, and Daniel Barnett glanced round. No one appeared to be in sight, and quick as thought it was done.
"It's dynamite, isn't it?" "Something of the same nature. Joveite, it's called." Still the surgeon stared at him. Barnett laughed. "Oh, you've got the high explosives superstition," he said lightly. "Dynamite don't go off as easy as people think. You could drop that stuff from the cliffhead without danger. Have I got to come down for it?" With a wry face Trendon tossed up the package.
What am I to go down and say?" "Go and tell him that I cannot forget the past, mother, and tell Mr Barnett to wait. In a few months I will try to think, as you all wish me, if if I live." "Oh, my darling, my darling," sobbed the mother. "Don't cry, dear," said Mary calmly.
To me the strangest thing about this man is that he appears to be thoroughly adapted to these surroundings, and yet would be equally at home in what we choose to call our set, just like that dear woman Mrs. Barnett. I can't help wondering what he is doing here, I mean apart from his obvious work which, in all conscience, appears to be hard enough.
An Indian of some five- and-forty years came out as they did so. "Are you Dias Otero?" Harry asked. "The same, senor." "I have just arrived from England, and bring a letter to you from Senor Barnett, with whom you travelled for two or three years some time ago." The man's face lit up with pleasure. "Will you enter, senor. Friends of Senor Barnett may command my services in any way.
No evidence of fire anywhere else. I tell you," said Billy Edwards pathetically, "it's given me a headache." "Perhaps it's one of those cases of panic that Forsythe spoke of the other night," said Ives. "The crew got frightened at something and ran away, with the devil after them." "But crews don't just step out and run around the corner and hide, when they're scared," objected Barnett.
There were also camped near by, several batteries from Kentucky, Wisconsin, and other States. Colonel Barnett, had the entire command. We were kept under thorough military discipline. Dress parade every afternoon, drilling and guard mounting. After remaining here about one week, for some cause or other, we again moved half a mile to new grounds.
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