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"You have much of me in you, Kit, despite your poor dear mother's extravagant attempts to limit your reading to Frances Ridley Havergal. Why didn't you marry an artist, eh? A painter or an author, somebody who can give us more beauty than we have already, or more truth? You're too good for Frances Ridley Havergal.
It was now dark, and there were no rations served out; very cold, too, and we had no kit, but it wasn't these things we minded, but the getting out instead of training on. 'Kroonstadt' is redolent of war, but, 'Bloemfontein' spells inaction. However, there was no help for it. We slept on the ground, and precious cold this new climate was.
Kit discoursed on sobriety in the most edifying manner, as at last he drove heavily along the street, almost the last in the baggage train of the king and queens but still in time to be so included in it so as to save all difficulty at the gates.
His wife stood at a little distance. Kit shook his hand. "I'm afraid your boat can't make it," he said. "It is smaller than ours and a bit cranky." The man pulled out a row of bills. "I'll give you each a hundred if you run it through." Kit looked out and up the tossing Mane of the White Horse.
"I do sort of feel sorry for that horse, Dolly," drawled Kit. "Joy is such a heavy-weight that Dolly just has to puff. Why, she tips the scales at ninety-two pounds." Everybody laughed and Tommy drew in his horse and waited until Joy came abreast on a level stretch. Then he reached over and dug into the horse's side.
I've never in all my twenty years of Brussels management had a row with the police.... And as to all this rot about the White Slave Traffic that you seem so excited about ... well I'm not saying there's nothin' in it.... Antwerp, Hamburg, Rotterdam you'd hear some funny stories there ... but only if you went as David Williams in your man's kit My! what a wheeze that's bin!... And from all they tell me, that place in South America Buenos Aires, is a reg'lar Hell.
A faint bleating of sheep came down the hill, and the beck splashed softly among the stones. Kit found the quiet soothing. He had had enough excitement and adventure, and had half-consciously recognized that the life he had led in the tropics was not for him. On the whole, he thought he had made good. One did one's best at the work one found, but intrigue was not his proper job.
Having approached some of them to within a distance sufficiently near so to do, Kit Carson commenced talking to them in a conciliatory manner. They were inclined to heed his words; and, in order to make it appear that he was not intimidated by their actions, he went into camp, and invited these advance parties of the Indians to come in and have a talk and smoke with him.
The reader will here see one difficulty which had to be overcome by Carson, and which kept him so long in want of employment. From this time Kit carried a rifle and worked from an experience which commanded admiration, respect, and esteem wherever he went, and with whatever party he became connected.
Even Helen had remarked that she didn't see how on earth Kit could ever have imagined a person looking like Mr. Howard could be a berry hooker. "I don't want you to forgive me," she said, calmly. "I've never been one bit sorry for it. I think you ought to have come up to the house and asked permission to go in there. And you never said that you were sorry.
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