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In September 1863, soldiers ransacked the Harris home, stole everything they considered valuable, and burned the house. A daughter, Kate, who was asleep upstairs, was rescued from the flames by her sister. As the raiders left, one of them shouted: “Now, old lady, call on your protectors. Why don’t you call on Cole Younger now?”
He was consuming the remains of his dead wife, and large tears were coursing down his cheeks. Day and night he sat there until the bones had been nearly all burned and covered with ashes. This accounted for the fragments of bones in my black loam; why it was not fertile, I know, but I don't know how to express the reason well.
Cowan, swearing at a smoking lamp, looked up with a grin and burned his fingers as a roar of laughter marked the point of a droll reminiscence told by Bartlett. "That's a good story, Bartlett," Elkins remarked, slowing refilling his pipe. "Reminds me of the lame Greaser, Hippy Joe, an' the canned oysters. They was both bad, an' neither of 'em knew it till they came together.
And mother was lonely, eh? and Dad's rheumatism getting the best of him Why Great Guns! mother and dad were growing old! And some of those snow-white hairs of theirs had come from worrying over him John had said so. Ralph's dark face burned in the chill night wind.
And the first words which follow for the setting forth of that grace whereby we may serve God acceptably are these "Let brotherly love continue." To love our brother is to worship the Consuming Fire. The symbol of the consuming fire would seem to have been suggested to the writer by the fire that burned on the mountain of the old law.
Monnie felt her black hair rise under her little fur hood. She seized Menie's coat. "Do you suppose the world is going to be burned up?" she said. Just then they heard a voice calling, "Menie, Monnie, where are you?" "Here we are," they answered. Their teeth were chattering with cold and fright, and they ran up the slope and flung themselves into their mother's arms.
Of course, we did not know that there was any escape. Perhaps the whole world had burned. But my father was sure that we should get out of it some time or other if we only kept straight on.
He sat quite still and tried to think calmly, tried to piece together in his mind the sequence of events which had brought him to this part of the world and which had led to his remaining where he was, an undesired hanger-on at the threshold of Miles Fentolin. He had the feeling that to-night he had burned his boats.
"Oh! come along, fireman; help me to save my things," he exclaimed, as he struggled with superhuman efforts to thrust a table through the window, which was too small to permit its passage. "Stop, sir, are you mad?" cried Frank sternly. "Help me! help me! Oh! fireman, it will be all burned. Fire! fire! fire!!!" His voice rose into a fierce yell, as he strove in vain with the table.
During this period of almost insane excitement, thirteen negroes were burned at the stake, eighteen were hanged, and seventy transported. I cannot conclude this treatise upon the olden time better than by quoting the eloquent words of Mr.
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