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He knows he's fit for it. He's sthronger thin th' young lawyer they have now. People'll listen to him in Wash'nton as they do in Chicago. He says: 'I'll take it. An' thin he thinks iv th' wife an' they's no Wash'nton f'r him. His pollytical career is over. He wud niver have been constable if he hadn't marrid, but he might have been sinitor if he was a widower." "Mrs.
For one moment the wave rose between the boat and the men on the rock, and hid her from view, causing Ned to exclaim, with a genuine groan, "Arrah! they's gone!" But they were not; the boat's head had been carefully kept to the sea, and, although she had been swept back a considerable way, and nearly half-filled with water, she was still afloat.
Still, they's no tellin'," he added, seeing the answer to his objection in the agent's eyes. "Times is purty close, too, with us, y' see; we've jest built that stable " "Say, I'll tell yeh what I'll do," said the stranger, waking up and speaking in a warmly generous tone. "I'll give you ten bottles of the bitter if you'll let me paint a sign on that barn.
"They've talked about me all my life, I'd be kinda lonesome if they's to quit." Dinner over, Kate proposed that her mother should lie down while they washed the dishes. "I would like a little rest," said Mrs. Bates. "I guess I'll go upstairs." "You'll do nothing of the kind," said Kate. "It's dreadfully hot up there. Go in the spare room, where it is cool; we'll keep quiet.
It'll do for those that's stuck on hard work God knows, they's nothin' here to induce a fellow to knock off ever for a bit of play. No fishin', no huntin', nothin' but work. I'd work myself, if I had to live here."
"I think I never saw the place look so nice," she said to her step-mother. Dottie came walking unsteadily over the thick grass. She had found an ox-daisy and a four-o'clock. "Here! take my pretties," she said imperiously. Sophia took them. "They's to be blowed," said Dottie, not yet distinguishing duly the different uses of flowers or of words.
The League o' the Iroquois 'll be scattered like dust in the wind, an' we'll wonder where it has gone. But 'fore then, they's goin' to be great trouble. The white settlers has got to give up their land an' move, 'er turn Tory, 'er be tommy-hawked."
They got aplenty when Buck went on th' warpath, an they's hankerin' to git square," remarked Johnny Nelson, stealing the pie, a rare treat, of his neighbor when that unfortunate individual was not looking. He had it halfway to his mouth when its former owner, Jimmy Price, a boy of eighteen, turned his head and saw it going. "Hi-yi! Yu clay-bank coyote, drap thet pie!
They could see a young woman moving about in the house, setting a table. At the gate they stopped, so as to prevent the man from getting to his horse. The soldier eyed them curiously. "I wonder whose boys they is?" he said to himself. "They's certainly actin' comical! Playin' soldiers, I reckon." "Cock your gun easy," said Frank, in a low tone, suiting his own action to the word. Willy obeyed.
"They's gals there. I hates gals," said the boy in a confidential tone. "Any sort o' men critters I kin stand, but gals gits my goat." "Who are you?" inquired Mr. Conant. "Me? I'm jus' Bub." "Where is Mr. Morrison's man?" "Meanin' Talbot? Gone up to Mark's Peak, to guide a gang o' hunters f'm the city." "When did he go?" asked the lawyer. "I guess a Tuesday. No a Wednesday."
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