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The physician shook his head. "Suppose you tell it to me now," he suggested. So, perched comfortably upon the arm of his chair, Polly related the story of "The Wonderful White Flower." "I see," he mused, as Polly stopped speaking. He was silent a moment. Then he went on. "Mrs. Jocelyn lost her only child, a beautiful little boy, when he was eight years old.
"I wonder where that horse went to, and how long it will be before Dave and Sam come up?" Had there been a tree handy, Henry would have mounted it to take observations. But not even a hillock was near, and he had to content himself with remaining on the level, using his eyes to the utmost. "If they don't come soon, I suppose I'll have to spend the night here," he mused.
Andy had a vivid picture in his mind the big circus tent four miles away. He could recall just where the Benares Brothers act came on the programme. "It was about ninth down the list yesterday afternoon," he mused, softly. "They begin the show about eight o'clock. It's now about nine. I calculate the Benares Brothers come on this evening at about a quarter to ten. Four miles.
Morrow mused: "Here's a girl who is frank enough to say so when she likes a fellow. It makes her all the more fascinating, too. Some women would make me very tired throwing themselves at me this way. But it is different with her." They gave the fish to the captain and returned from the Inlet by the Atlantic Avenue trolley, just in time for dinner.
"I rested well last night, and had pleasant dreams, Ruez." "Last night," said the boy, "that reminds me of some music I heard." "Music?" "Yes, a serenade; a manly voice and guitar, I should judge." "It is strange; I dreamed that I heard it, too, but on waking I thought it was but a dream. It might have been real," mused Isabella, thoughtfully.
Connel watched them go, a ferocious scowl on his craggy features. "Little rough on them, weren't you, Major?" asked the man who stood beside the Solar Guard officer. "Rules are meant to be obeyed, Professor Hemmingwell," retorted Connel stiffly. "Perhaps you're right," mused the stranger. "But what's this about an inquiry?" "A trial, Professor.
"Now I wonder if you're the same disreputable citizens that tried to make a free lunch counter of me last night?" George mused. "I presume you're hungry, all right, but I'd rather not be the person to do the feeding this morning. You look too fierce for me, both of you."
Then, as he joined his own chosen knights, and surveyed the field, he beheld an opening which the advanced position of the Saxon vanguard had left, and by which his knights might gain the entrenchments. He mused a moment, his face still bare, and brightening, as he mused.
"Well, Mother Borton, Tom Terrill's laid up in Livermore with a broken head, and I'm safe here with you, ready to serve you in any way that a man may." "Safe safe?" mused Mother Borton, an absent look coming over her skinny features, as though her mind wandered. Then she turned to me impressively. "You'll never be safe till you change your work and your name.
All this made Copplestone draw a conclusion. "There's no great love lost between the gentleman at the big house and his lady relatives in the little cottage," he mused. "Also, around the gentleman there appears to be some cloud of mystery. What? and has it anything to do with the Oliver mystery?"
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