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I could make nothing out of their incoherent explanations. ... "Trypheny was crazy ... she'd ought to have a guardeen ... that Canuck shoemaker had addled her brains ... there'd ought to be a law against that kind of newspaper. ... Trypheny was goin' like her great-aunt, Lucilly, that died in the asylum. ..." I appealed directly to Cousin Tryphena for information as to what the trouble was.
Natchally, this made 'em plumb ferocious, and they used to come right into the clearin' around the camp, hopin', I suppose, to pick up somethin'. The cook had to watch out to keep the supply house closed up tight, or there'd 'a' been a famine in camp, sure.
A giddiness dimmed his vision, a singing filled his ears. "If I slipped over and was carried along with it, there'd be an end of it all," thought Tom. And the chill wind came sighing across the water, and shook the heavy rushes at the edge, which seemed whisperingly to echo his thought, "an end of it all."
"She scolded me. She said.... But, anyway, I coaxed her not to tell on me." "I want to know what she said," spoke up the rider, deliberately. Lucy blushed, and it was a consciousness of confusion as well as Slone's tone that made her half-angry. "She said when I was found out there'd be a a great fuss at the Ford. There would be talk.
"Well, there isn't as much as I thought there'd be," was the comment of the engineer, "but every little helps. We'll make a different section of this a year from now. If it wasn't for Molick standing out against the irrigation scheme we'd have the whole of Rolling River Valley in it," "Is there any way of forcing him?" asked Dave. "There may be, after he sees what he's missing."
"I wish Chapman could look in here now," said Bright, "there'd be a lesson for him on what happiness is worth." And he shook Tite by the hand, told him to remember that his house was always open to him, and left for the night.
Job and she had a place left on it for her own name. She said there'd be nobody to make Job put up a monument to HER." "Speaking of Taylors, how is Mrs. Lewis Taylor up at the Glen, doctor?" asked Captain Jim. "She's getting better slowly but she has to work too hard," replied Gilbert. "Her husband works hard too raising prize pigs," said Miss Cornelia. "He's noted for his beautiful pigs.
"Daddy Christmas," said a voice, gaily, "if there'd been two plates and two spoons, and if you'd had any sort of a dinner to-day, I'd be perfectly willing to share this treat with you. As it is, you'll have to eat it all by yourself." A second later the voice added: "Funny, you just saying the Lord would provide; but I bet you didn't think He'd provide ice-cream and cake!"
'Never you mind, mother, I says, 'there's neither man nor beast'ud hurt little Phebe. You'd enjoy painting my prize-pigs, I know; and there'd be plenty o' time. Wouldn't you now?" "Very much," she said, "if I have time." "That's something to look forward to," he continued. "I'm always thinking what you'd like to paint, and make a picture of.
"What about what gun?" said the man softly, as he gave a sharp glance round. "Get out! You know." "Whish!" said the man. "Don't you get thinking about no guns. I wouldn't ha' showed it to you if I'd known. Why, if folks knew I had a gun, there'd be no end of bother, so don't you say nothing about it again." "Well, then, sell it to me. Burr here's going to join me."
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