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"What is it?" asked Mrs. Bunker. "Margy's gone, and we can't find her, but we can hear her," explained Rose. She need not have said the last, for Margy was still screaming: "I want to get out! Take me out! It's terrible dark here!" "Oh, the poor child's in the nut cubby-hole!" cried Grandma Ford. "Of course it's dark there! Wait a minute, my dear, and I'll get you out," she said.
The British driven from Boston, March 17, 1776.% After eight months of seeming idleness, Washington, early in March, 1776, seized Dorchester Heights on the south side of Boston, fortified them, and so gave Howe his choice of fighting or retreating. Fight he could not; for the troops, remembering the dreadful day at Bunker Hill, were afraid to attack intrenched Americans.
Captain Bunker stood near the bitts, where his brief orders were transmitted to the man at the almost useless wheel. At his side Senor Perkins beamed with unshaken serenity, and hopefully replied to the captain's half surly, half anxious queries. "By the chart we should be well east of Los Lobos island, d'ye see?" he said impatiently.
As he went out he merely remarked, “Our acquaintance has been brief, Mr Butler, but it has been quite sufficient.” “Quite,” thought Mr Bunker. That was Mr Bunker’s first and last meeting with the Rev. John Duggs, and he took no small credit to himself for having so effectually incensed his neighbour, without, at the same time, bringing suspicion on anything more pertinent than his sobriety.
Morrison waited a few moments, gazing from face to face. Then he leaned across the table and gave the telegram into the hands of Miss Bunker. "Make it a part of the record, please," he directed. "Well, I'll be eternally condemned!" roared the Governor. "You're a rank outsider. You don't know what you're talking about. How do you dare to involve the judges?
Bunker stares at the fellow as Clown stares at Harlequin after having cut him in two, in dumb amazement at the fact that Harlequin is not in the least disturbed by being cut in two. "I wonder," he mutters as he returns to the table, "if that unmitigated wooden image of a dunderhead would pay any attention if I were to kick him?"
He was like the best of those who stood at Concord Bridge once, on Lexington Common, and on Bunker Hill, only he was firmer and higher principled than any that I have chanced to hear of as there. It was no abolition lecturer that converted him. Ethan Allen and Stark, with whom he may in some respects be compared, were rangers in a lower and less important field.
He had fought in many battles from Bunker Hill to Princeton. But, finding himself passed over, when others were promoted, he had gone off homeward in dudgeon. But now in his country's hour of need he forgot his grievances and once more girded on his sword. He led his men with splendid dash and the enemy was utterly defeated, and Stark was made a brigadier general as a reward.
The trough was filled from a spring, back of the barn, the water running through a pipe. "Oh, Bunker, give me a ride on Major's back!" cried Sue, as she saw her father's red-haired helper leading the old brown horse. "Put me on his back, Bunker!" "All right, Sue! Come along. Whoa, there, Major!" Major stood still, for he was very gentle.
The chairs and sofa were upholstered in a figured satin of a slightly richer hue of green, and on several priceless oriental tables lay displayed in ivory, silver, crystal, and alabaster more articles of vertu than were to be found in the entire house of an average collector. "Fortunate Tulliwuddle!" thought Bunker.
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