United States or Eritrea ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !


There was a rattle, a faint crash; and then, as the wheels of the two vehicles almost touched each other in passing, Ford shouted, "The bridge is down!" Such a narrow escape! One of the rotten girders, never half strong enough, had given way under the sudden shock of the hinder wheels; and that truck-wagon would have to find its road across the brook as best it could.

"Oh, thank you ever so much," gratefully. "It's VERY kind of you to take so much trouble." "Oh," airily, "that's all right. Come on; perhaps we can find it together." They were still looking when Mr. Price came panting in. "Whew!" he observed, with emphasis. "If anybody tells you heavin' bundles of laths aboard a truck-wagon ain't hard work you tell him for me he's a liar, will ye. Whew!

Walker Farr put aside papers upon which he had been working since he had eaten his modest supper, and pulled on his coat and went forth into the evening. He strolled up one of the streets in the Eleventh Ward of Marion, manifestly glad to be out among the people. He stopped at the curb and hailed the driver of a truck-wagon which was loaded down with kegs and jugs.

And now, as they whirled along, even Dabney's face paled a little. "I must reach the bridge before he does: he's just stupid enough to keep right on." It was very "stupid," indeed, for the driver of that one-horse "truck-wagon" to try and reach the little narrow unrailed bridge first. It was an old, used-up sort of a bridge, at best. Dab loosened the reins a little, but could not use his whip.

A market woman homeward bound with her empty truck-wagon, recognizes my road-rights to the extent of barely room to squeeze past between her wagon and the ditch; and holds her long, stiff buggy-whip so that it " swipes " me viciously across the face, knocks my helmet off into the mud ditch, and well-nigh upsets mo into the same.

We'll be some consider'ble proud of you, too, boy," he added, with a nod. His grandson looked away, out of the window, over the bleak yard with its piles of lumber. The voice of Issacher raised in expostulation with the driver of Cahoon's "truck-wagon" could be faintly heard. "I shall hate to leave you and Grandmother and the old place," he said. "If I am elected "