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But I am anxious to keep the story hour apart as dedicated to something higher than these excellent but utilitarian considerations. The second argument used by the teachers is the joy felt by the children in being allowed to dramatize the stories.
Now it was just at this thrilling part that Euphemia came home, and the trouble about the flattened hat began. I never flattened her hat. It was in the box, and so was I; but as for deliberate flattening It was just a thing that happened. She should not write such interesting stories if she expects me to go on tiptoe through the world looking about for her hats.
The story goes on to tell how good King Ludd freed the island of Britain from all three plagues and lived in peace all the days of his life. In five of the stories of The Mabinogion, King Arthur appears. And, although these were all written in Welsh, it has been thought that some may have been brought to Wales from France. This seems strange, but it comes about in this way.
"I'm not goin' ter write jes one straight book," said Diddie; "I'm goin' ter have little short stories, an' little pieces of poetry, an' all kin' of things; an' I'll name one of the stories 'Nettie Herbert: don't you think that's a pretty name, Dumps?" "Jes' beautiful," replied Dumps; and Diddie wrote the name at the beginning of the book.
Every day, after the business of the morning is concluded, the Colonel dresses for dinner, which appears upon the table at three o'clock. He presides with genuine elegance and taste; his stories are good, and his quotations amusing.
"Of course you can," declared the Journalist. "Everybody in the world has one story to tell." "Sure," exclaimed the Lawyer. "No embargo on subjects?" "I don't know," smiled the Doctor. "There is always the Youngster." "You go to blazes," was the Youngster's response, and he added: "No war stories. Draw that line." "Then," laughed the Doctor, "let's make it tales of our own, our native land."
Rumors of fighting and violence came from the new city of Lawrence, the chief settlement of the free-State men, on the Kaw; and at Grasshopper Falls, still further to the west, the most desirable land was already taken up, and there were wild stories of a raid on that locality being planned by bands of Border Ruffians. They were in a state of doubt and uncertainty. "There she is!
Joppa was in sore straits, again besieged; the Bishop of Sarum was returned from the West, having a branch of dead broom in his hand and stories of a throttled kingdom on his lips. Before any other Richard had Milo alone. The good abbot is very reticent about the interview in his book. What he omits is more significant than what he says.
I can tell you what it means balder-dash." His mouth fell. She was sweeping away the cobwebs with a vengeance. "I hope you're wrong," he replied, "for those are the lines on which I've been writing, however badly, for the last two years." "But you write stories, not poems." He looked at his watch. "Lessons again. One never has a moment's peace." "Poor Rickie.
As time passed and the peculiar look which betrays the haunted soul gradually became visible in the young widower's eyes, doubts arose and reports circulated which cast strange reflections upon the tragic end of his mistaken marriage. Stories of the disreputable use to which the old grotto had been put were mingled with vague hints of conjugal violence never properly investigated.
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