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Almost as soon as the firing became heavy in front, crowds of painted warriors rose from some hollows of long grass that lay on Trigg's right and poured in a close and deadly volley. Rushing forward, they took his men in rear and flank, and rolled them up on the centre, killing Trigg himself. Harlan's advance guard was cut down almost to a man, their commander being among the slain.
"I can just sit and look on; for, of course, the others didn't know what a dear good bird my starling was." After tea, Caroline curled herself up into Mrs. Trigg's chair, and sat watching the others while they played.
Some time before she had begun to refer to herself as "Miss Nobody from Nowhere." It was continually on her mind. So Miss Trigg's suggestion about the monogram was not entirely satisfactory to Nancy. It is all right to have brave thoughts about doing great deeds in the future; but supposing there is no future? That's the way it looked to Nancy Nelson.
We followed our schoolmaster and watched while the body was lowered and the red earth shovelled in. The grave was deep, and Mr. Trigg assisted in filling it, puffing very much over the task and stopping at intervals to mop his face with his coloured cotton handkerchief. Then, when all was done, while we were still standing silently around, it came into Mr. Trigg's mind to improve the occasion.
She was glad when the bell rang for the girls to rise and listen to Miss Trigg's murmured "thanks for meat." Then she ran eagerly over to the principal's cottage and found Miss Prentice waiting for her. "I have heard from Mr. Gordon," began that lady. "My guardian!" gasped Nancy, clasping her hands. "I do not know that he is your guardian," responded Miss Prentice, with an admonitory look.
It has probably more than doubled in volume in the intervening years: since Whitman's death in the spring of '92, it has been added to by William Clark's book upon the poet, Professor Trigg's study of Browning and Whitman, and the work of that accomplished critic and scholar, so lately gone to his rest, John Addington Symonds.
But Miss Trigg's pleasures were between bookcovers; Nancy Nelson was too healthy a girl not to desire something of a more exciting nature than Roman history or higher mathematics on a long, hot summer afternoon. That was why she stole away from the deeply absorbed Miss Trigg on one such occasion late in August, when they had ridden out to Granville Park to spend an hour or two in the open.
Save for Miss Trigg's awkward attempts at motherliness, and the surreptitious hugs and kisses of certain womanly servants about the school who pitied the lonely child, Nancy Nelson had experienced little affection. She was popular in a way with her fellow pupils, yet there had always been a barrier between her and the rest of the school.
Trigg's favourite tabby cat; and really, to look at him lying on the rug, winking and blinking before the fire, paying more attention to the kettle hissing and boiling away than to any bird, Caroline could not help feeling a little ashamed of the question. "Oh, Tom has got over all that kind of wild pranks, Miss Carry," said Mrs. Trigg.
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