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Well, it's smashed to chips now, 'long with the old camp." "What awfully selfish jackasses we were, to skip off with our own rifles, and never think of yours, or that you couldn't save it, carrying that poor fellow! I feel like kicking myself," said Cyrus, sharp vexation in his voice. "But that slide business sprang on us so quickly.
He forgot that life had to be shaped with an axe till the chips fly. As soon as he had gone, Mrs. Prowde shut the door on Hazel hastily, for fear the weather might bring relenting. She had other views for Albert. In after years, when the consequences of her action had become things of the past, she always spoke of how she had done her best with Hazel.
The sun always seems to shine in a ship-yard; there are apt to be more loungers than laborers, and this gives a pleasant air of repose; the neighboring water softens all harsher sounds, the foot treads upon an elastic carpet of embedded chips, and pleasant resinous odors are in the air.
And the axe sang, and the chips flew, and the woods gave echo, and the talk went on. And the day came so quickly to an end that Olof started to find how it was already growing dark. "Well, and what do you say now?" asked the trees expectantly. Olof stepped from stem to stem, counting the fallen. There were forty in all and he laughed. "I shall be here again to-morrow, anyhow," he said gaily.
The walls were fortified with heavy beams of wood. The house looked deserted. Yet in front of the barred door stood a bucket of fresh water and an ax lay on the ground, with some chips of freshly hewn wood near it. Also the girls noticed that the way up to the door had lately been trodden by heavy feet. Without asking anybody's permission the girls drank long and deeply of the fresh water.
The railroad was a good one and well built on a roadbed of gravel and chips of granite, with solid heart pine or chestnut ties, laid with "T" rails.
Smoke bought a stack of chips and stationed himself at the game-keeper's end of the table. Again and again the ball was whirled and the other players won or lost, but Smoke did not venture a chip. Shorty waxed impatient. "Buck in, buck in," he urged. "Let's get this funeral over. What's the matter? Got cold feet?" Smoke shook his head and waited.
Now, for some years it has been inadequate, frequently unintelligible, often grossly misleading, failing wholly to give the real spirit and meaning of the most important discussions; and it is as dry as chips besides. To be both stupid and inaccurate is the unpardonable sin in journalism.
Doctor Vigors was now daily in attendance, with many other learned physicians, who almost fought in the antechambers on the treatment to be observed towards this sick person. One was for cataplasms of bran and Venice turpentine, another for putting live pigeons to her feet, another for a portion of hot wine strained through gold-leaf and mingled with hellebore and chips of mandrake.
They take the rag off the bush quite; a woman "that will come" and a horse that "will go" ought to make any man happy. Give me a gall that all I have to say to is, "Quick, pick up chips and call your father to dinner," and a horse that enables you to say, "I am thar." That's all I ask. Now just look at the different sorts of love-making in this world.
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