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His head and shoulders showed above the dreaded trap of "Strath's Bunker," and not far from him was a white-bearded old gentleman with twinkling blue eyes who was smiling at Harding's desperate efforts to loft his ball out of the sand. "Thot weel not do-o, mon!" I heard him say as I neared the scene of this tragedy. "Take yeer niblick, mon, an' coom richt doon on it!"
In the kitchen, the muffled pounding of a sad-iron upon the padded ironing-board. "Ma!" Mrs. Ericson's whitey-yellow hair, pale eyes, and small nervous features were shadowed behind the cotton fly-screen. "Vell?" she said. "I haven't got noth-ing to do-o." "Go pile the vood." "I piled piles of it." "Then you can go and play." "I been playing." "Then play some more."
When their uncle Petrusha comes in the evening, they draw him aside, and complain to him of their father, who wanted to throw the kittens into the cesspool. "Uncle Petrusha, tell mamma to have the kittens taken to the nursery," the children beg their uncle, "do-o tell her." "There, there . . . very well," says their uncle, waving them off. "All right." Uncle Petrusha does not usually come alone.
"Oo-oo-oo-ooo ... cluck!" it cooed and grumbled, pressing a dappled breast and wide-spread wings against a screen, the mottled back-feathers ruffling into a huge breeze-swept pompon. "See! He's playing he's a big owl." "Oh! I wonder if he'd let me let me catch him." Jessie sighed yearningly. "Do-o, and we'll tame him keep him for a mascot!" It was a general acclamation.
"Oh! she's in no danger of drowning; she swims better than I I do-o now," shivered Pemrose, rather wishing that June were July and the Bowl had undergone the gradual glow of a heating process. "Aren't you coming, Thrush?" she cried. "Aren't you coming in, Jessie?" "I can't leave the owl!
"No doubt he's saying to himself: 'Shucks! Where's that hermit or hermitess " merrily, "'with the frog in her throat, or the great, big worm?" "Oh! do-o try it again, anyway?" pleaded the visitors together. "It's won-der-ful! We'll be as still as still as a nun's chapel!"
"Without the light, the little safety lamp, I couldn't do-o it," he told himself. "Gee! but it is as black in here as Erebus, a Tinker's Pot, indeed the blindest passage blindest bargain I ever struck! So so sharp underneath, too!" Yes, difficulty masked was in the "bargain", yet he crept on over tapering ridges of rock that now and again buckled like teeth.
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