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Lewis Bolter's black mare, Ida Bellethorne." "Oh!" "And, oh, Bob!" cried Betty, "there's another Ida Bellethorne, and this Ida has gone away to see her. She's her aunt." "Who's her aunt?" grumbled Bob, who was having some difficulty just then in driving the car and so could not give his full attention to the matter the girls were chattering about. "Why, see!" cried Betty, rummaging in her bag.
But that would be only as a last resource. Doctor Bolter's was a painful position, and he could not help feeling how utterly weak man is in the midst of nature's solitudes.
They seemed full of careful thought, and a few words of their conversation that reached me, induced me to approach and make further enquiries. A party of people flying from London, as was frequent in those days, had come up the Thames in a boat. No one at Windsor would afford them shelter; so, going a little further up, they remained all night in a deserted hut near Bolter's lock.
One would have said that judgments upon her story were indifferent to her; she simply related past events. In a moment, she resumed. "Do you remember, on the night when you first met me, a man following us in the street?" Waymark nodded. "He was a friend of Alfred Bolter's, and sometimes we met him when we went to the theatre, and such places.
The jailer took the disengaged hand of Oliver; and, whispering him not to be alarmed, looked on without speaking. 'Take him away to bed! cried Fagin. 'Do you hear me, some of you? He has been the the somehow the cause of all this. It's worth the money to bring him up to it Bolter's throat, Bill; never mind the girl Bolter's throat as deep as you can cut. Saw his head off!
The sailors were in a high state of delight over what they called the "Bolter's weakness," and out of gratitude to him for many a little bit of doctoring, they took him everything they could get hold of that flew, crept, crawled, ran, or swam, bothering him almost to death.
Lewis Bolter's new mare from England. I heard Mr. Littell and Uncle Dick talking about her." "And I met a girl named Ida Bellethorne. I'll tell you all about her later, Bob," said Betty. "Just now I want to know what to do about the locket." "I should say you did! And I'll tell you what," Bob said promptly.
He takes care of her. I talked with him at Mr. Bolter's farm in Virginia. The mare has a cough, and she was sent up here to get well. And I heard Mr. Bolter himself tell Hunchie Slattery that he was to go with her." "Dear me, Betty! if I could find Hunchie, too, I'd feel better. He might be able to tell me how it came that my mare was taken away and sold. She really did belong to me, Mr. Gordon.
Littell was a builder and constructor and he bought many work horses of Mr. Bolter's raising, as well as saddle stock. If there was anything on four feet that Betty and Bob loved, it was a horse.
As he politely lifted his cap to a bevy of girls, he imagined that they were rather constrained in their return greeting and looked at him queerly. Beyond the schoolhouse was Bolter's Hill, a famous place for coasting in the winter time. Just now it had a new power of attraction for the schoolboys. An old hermit-like fellow named Clay Dobbins had lived for years at the other side of the hill.
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