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'Home! cried Peterson. 'Why? 'Because! Dick had the instincts of a leader; he demanded reasons for everything, but gave none. Before the lads parted that night young Haddon proffered Ted McKnight excellent advice. 'Your dad's night shift, ain't he? he said. 'Well, don't you go in till near twelve.
Bending over her, reading from the same pages, were Margaret Hale and Louise Miller. A few feet away Tory Drew and Dorothy McClain were writing on large sheets of paper the instructions that were offered them from time to time. Teresa Peterson, slipping her handkerchief to her eyes, was wiping away an uncomfortable moisture. Her cheeks were deeply flushed and her lips tremulous.
Bannon did not have to wait long. Soon there was a sound of feet outside the door, and after a little hesitation, six laborers entered, five of them awkwardly and timidly, wondering what was to come. Peterson followed, with Max, and closed the door.
I saw Peterson at the wheel, wet to the skin, as now and again a seventh wave, slow, portentous, deadly-deliberate, showed ahead of us, advanced, reared and pounded down on us with its tons of might. But he only shook the brine from his eyes and held her up, waiting for the slow pulse of our crippled engine to come on.
"Well, I guess they don't come any of that on me," said Peterson, laughing again. "How long are you going to stay with us?" The office, then, had not told him. Bannon was for a moment at a loss what to say. Luckily there was an interruption. The red-headed young man he had spoken to an hour before came in, tossed a tally board on the desk, and said that another carload of timber had come in. "Mr.
A.J. Davis & Co. 12mo. pp. 417. $1.25. Seven Little People and their Friends. Illustrated by F.A. Chapman. New York. A.D.F. Randolph. 16mo. pp. 240. 75 cts. The Pirates of the Prairies; or, Adventures in the American Desert. By Gustave Aimard. Philadelphia. T.B. Peterson & Brothers. 8vo. paper, pp. 152. 50 cts.
Peterson was approaching from the tool house, and Bannon called. "How many laborers have you got, Pete?" "Hardly any. Max, there, can tell." Max, who had just passed out his last check, now joined them at the doorstep. "There's just sixty-two that came for checks," he said, "not counting the carpenters." "About what I expected," Bannon replied. "This night business lays them out."
He hoped, therefore, that she would go and look for him in the town, and so be absent during her aunt's visit. "Weel, Marget," he said, with his customary greeting, in which the foreign oil sought to overcome the home-bred vinegar, "hoo are ye the day?" "Ow! nae that ill," answered Marget with a sigh. "And hoo's Mr and Mistress Peterson?" "Brawly. Hoo's Annie comin' on?" "Nae that ill.
Then for two minutes she stood and addressed them through the darkness in strident tones and language that would have shocked an old drover or a railway ganger. 'Bushrangin' ain't up to much, whimpered Ted, rubbing himself with both hands. 'It's rot! said Jacker fiercely. Peterson and Doon muttered words of approval, and Dick felt that four pairs of reproachful eyes were turned upon him.
As he went on down he passed a group of laborers who were bringing stairway material to the carpenters. "I don't know but what you was talking pretty loud," said Max to Peterson, in a low voice. "Here's some of 'em now." "They didn't hear nothing," Peterson replied, and the two went back to the distributing floor.
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