United States or Greenland ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
At one time the whole province used to meet at his house, to dance and make merry to their heart's content to the deafening sound of a home-trained orchestra, and the popping of rockets and Roman candles; and doubtless more than one aged lady sighs as she drives by the deserted palace of the boyar and recalls the old days and her vanished youth.
Mounting he caught up Yuma and Rally. Slowly Collie and the girl rode the trail to the level of the summit. Slowly they dropped down the descent into Moonstone Cañon. The letter, Overland Red, Silent Saunders, were forgotten. Side by side plodded the pony Yuma and Black Boyar. Rally followed. The trees on the western edge of the cañon threw long, shadowy bars of dusk across the road.
But Alexander's nature had not as yet been strengthened by misfortune and religious convictions: it was a sunny background of flickering enthusiasms, flecked now and again by shadows of eastern cunning or darkened by warlike ambitions a nature in which the sentimentalism of Rousseau and the passions of a Boyar alternately gained the mastery.
They got to have a license. I never took out one, not havin' the money. Anyway, if I did have enough money for a regular license, I'd start a saloon and live respectable." "Won't you quote something?" And the girl smiled bewitchingly. "Boyar and I must go soon. It's getting hot." "I'm mighty sorry you're goin', Miss. You're real California stock. Knowed it the minute I set eyes on you.
The girl's eyes, the color of sea-water in the sun, were leveled toward the distant hills across the San Fernando Valley. From her fingers dangled the long bridle-reins. Her lips were gently parted. Her gaze was the gaze of one who dreams in the daylight. And close in the hidden meadow crouched Romance, Romance ragged, unkempt, jocular.... Boyar first scented the wood-smoke.
The work of three reigns was undone. A boyar was Tsar of Russia and a boyar not in the line of Rurik and with Tatar blood in his veins! But this bold and unscrupulous man had performed a service to the state. The work of the Muscovite Princes was finished, and the extinction of the line was the next necessary event in the path of progress.
Is it the business of a 'boyár? The stars are not always propitious, and you will only get killed for naught. Now if you were making war with Turks or Swedes! But I'm ashamed even to talk of these fellows with whom you are fighting." I interrupted his speech. "How much money have I in all?" "Quite enough," replied he, with a complacent and satisfied air.
"That's utopian, Louise, but it isn't generally practicable." "Then make it individually practicable, uncle just this time. Pshaw! I don't believe you're half-trying to argue. Why, when Boyar bucked you off that time and ran into the barb-wire, then he didn't need doctoring for that awful cut on his shoulder, because he had done wrong." "That is no parallel, Louise. Boyar didn't know any better.
Louise, impelled to dreams by the languorous warm night and Boyar's easy stride up the steep, touched his neck with the rein and turned him into the Old Meadow Trail. The tall, slender stems of the yucca and infrequent clumps of dwarfed cacti cast clear-edged shadows on the bare, moonlit ground. Boyar, sniffing, suddenly swung up and pivoted, his fore feet hanging over sheer black emptiness.
He ate slowly, which is no insignificant item on the credit side of the big book of Success. Collie lifted his broad-brimmed hat as Louise rode up. His face was flushed. His lips were smiling, but his dark eyes were steady and grave. "'Morning, Collie! Boyar is just bound to lope. He never can bear to have a horse ahead of him." "He don't have to, very often," said Collie.
Word Of The Day