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His cousin came home, and sat by his bedside and condoled with him; his schoolma'am had sent word how sorry she was for him, John was Such a good boy. All this was dreadful. He groaned in agony. Besides, he was not to have any supper; it would be very dangerous to eat a morsel. The prospect was appalling.
The hands he grasped felt wet and cold, and in the misty choking gloom Scarlett could see that his father's eyes were nearly closed, and that there was in them a fixed and glassy stare. "He's dying!" he groaned; "he's dying!"
Food was scarce within the hut, and even though he groaned to die, the dawns brought hunger. So at the close of day he dragged him down the mountainside, thinking that under cover of the dusk he would steal into the village and seek a chance to earn his bread.
He loved his country and was ready to die for it; but to have bled for it, to have writhed under tortures for it, to have groaned in unison with its mortal anguish, to have passed through the fire of death and yet lived for it, these were not his glories.
If I were you, I'd figure on being out in a week or ten days." "Ten days!" groaned Tyke. "An' I haven't even got a place to go to." "It may take some hustling," admitted the agent. "But a good deal can be done in a short time when you have to. I'll look around, and if I learn of any place that would suit you I'll let you know."
You'll be back in no time." Miss Letitia Bascom came hurrying out of the house with a dark, oblong object in her hands. "There now, Jeff Whiting, I know you just tried to forget this on purpose. It's too late to put it in the trunk now; so you'll just have to put it in your overcoat pocket." Jeffrey groaned in spirit. It was a full-grown brick covered with felt, a foot warmer.
"Don't seem to notice him particularly," he added, "but tell me what he is doing." "He seems to have entered in a hurry," I announced, "and is now taking off his overcoat. He is wearing, I perceive, a bowler hat, a dinner jacket, the wrong-shaped collar; and he appears to have forgotten to change his boots." "That's Cullen, all right," Mr. Joseph H. Parker groaned.
He groaned, and the figure turned its head, showing a pair of little gold rings half hidden in curly black hair. "Aha! You feel some pretty well now?" it said. "Lie still so: we trim better." With a swift jerk he sculled the flickering boat-head on to a foamless sea that lifted her twenty full feet, only to slide her into a glassy pit beyond.
"She pinched my trousers!" "Pinched your trousers?" Eustace groaned. "All of them! The whole bally lot! She gets up long before I do, and she must have come into my room and cleaned it out while I was asleep. When I woke up and started to dress I couldn't find a solitary pair of bags anywhere in the whole place. I looked everywhere.
Thus the schooner obtained a free and clear start of thirty-six hours over those who were in pursuit. "We are stumped," groaned Dick, when word came back from Port Huron that the Peacock had passed that point long before. "That schooner now has the whole of Lake Huron before her, and there is no telling where she will go. Perhaps the Baxters will land in Canada."
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