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The test of my theology on him proved a failure. The story of the prodigal son was a great joke to him. He said of it: "Say, bub, if you ever strike an old gazabo as soft as dat one, lemme know, will ye?" Prayer to him was "talking through one's hat." In a few weeks he straightened up and began to give me very fine assistance in the bunk-house.
It was only natural that Bub should be frightened at this unexpected happening. All the terrible stories he had heard of the Russians served to make him fear them, and now returned to his mind with double force. To be captured by them was bad enough, but to be carried off by them, away from his comrades, was a fate of which he had not dreamed.
Now, it chanced that Charlie, in his investigations in the cupboard, had come across a neglected jug, that contained molasses; and as molasses was much prized by Bub, he had kept it for that little boy's sole use, dealing it out to him, a little at a time, at each meal.
It'd be different if we'd been poaching, but it's all honest work in open water." "But if we haven't done anything wrong, they can't do anything to us, can they?" Bub queried. "It strikes me as 'ow it ain't the proper thing for a boy o' your age shovin' in when 'is elders is talkin'," protested an English sailor, from over the edge of his bunk.
"We've got him, marm we've got him!" they shouted in chorus as they followed their leader into the house. "And where will you keep him to-night?" she inquired. "He tan seep with me!" promptly answered Bub, at which there was much merriment. "No," replied Tom, shaking his head at the mischief-maker, "you will stick a stick into his back, and 'make 'im wun' again."
Recovering himself, he proceeded to reload the rifles. But one thing gave him uneasiness. The Indian, he was quite sure, was still in the tree. What was he there for? "Perhaps," thought Charlie, "he will make a hole through the tree, and watch his chance, and shoot me. At any rate, he's a spy; and if he should find out that only Bub and I were here, he might make us trouble."
"No, no, NO! I wouldn't TOUCH anything that was yours" she put her hands to her head as though she were crazed, and then she turned and broke into a swift run up the road. Panting, June reached the gate. The front door was closed and there she gave a tremulous cry for Bub. The door opened a few inches and through it Bub shouted for her to come on.
If Don were your own flesh and blood, you would know intuitively that there is always a bad little rabbit and a good little rabbit. They dwell in a hollow tree with mother Rabbit and father Rabbit." "Thanks for the hint. I shall not fail in this job of dadding. Well then, bub, once upon a time there was a certain Mr.
"He come runnin' in like a whitehead, and as soon as I saw the paper and heard what Bub had to say, I thought maybe I'd better do somethin'." "Did you go to the factory?" asked Ned eagerly. "No. I thought the best thing to do would be to find this Mr. Swift, or the other folks mentioned in this letter.
The rest of his party, who had according to instructions scattered about the place, now began quietly to gravitate in his direction. "What kind of a lay-out is this?" inquired Orde. The dealer held up the three cards face out. "What kind of an eye have you got, bub?" he asked. "Oh, I don't know. A pretty fair eye. Why?"
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