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"Now remember, Tukey, have Granddad kill that biggest turkey night before Thanksgiving, an' then you run right over to Mis' Doudney's-she's got a nawful tongue, but she can bake a turkey first-rate-an' she'll fix up some squash pies for yeh. You can warm up one s' them mince pies. I wish ye could be with me, but ye can't, so do the best ye can."

* Bordingborg, in the reign of King Waldemar a considerable place, now an unimportant little town. One solitary tower only, and some remains of a wall, show where the castle once stood. And little Tukey lay in his bed: it seemed to him as if he dreamed, and yet as if he were not dreaming; however, somebody was close beside him. "Little Tukey! little Tukey!" cried some one near.

"Waal, you'll haff to stand it till I get back, 'n' you'll find a jar o' sweet pickles an' some crabapple sauce down suller, 'n' you'd better melt up brown sugar for 'lasses, 'n' for goodness' sake don't eat all them mince pies up the fust week, 'n' see that Tukey ain't froze goin' to school. An' now you'd better get out for home. Good-bye, an' remember them pies.

The next Sunday morning, after his chores were done, he put on his best coat of faded diagonal, and was brushing his hair into a ridge across the center of his high, narrow head when Mrs. Ripley carne in from feeding the calves. "Where you goin' now?" "None o' your business," he replied. "It's darn funny if I can't stir without you wantin' to know all about it. Where's Tukey?"

This made matters ten times worse than ever, for it was impossible to distinguish friends from foes. Suddenly, in rushed a posse of watchmen, headed by the renowned Marshal Tukey, and bearing torches. Many of the combatants were arrested, and but few contrived to make their escape. I had the honor of figuring among the unlucky ones; and, with my companions passed the night in durance vile.

*Bordingborg, in the reign of King Waldemar, a considerable place, now an unimportant little town. One solitary tower only, and some remains of a wall, show where the castle once stood. And little Tukey lay in his bed: it seemed to him as if he dreamed, and yet as if he were not dreaming; however, somebody was close beside him. "Little Tukey! Little Tukey!" cried someone near.

As they were riding home, Ripley roused up after a long silence. "Did she-a-kiss you goodbye, Tukey?" "No, sir," piped Tewksbury. "Thunder! didn't she?" After a silence. "She didn't me, neither. I guess she kind of sort a forgot it, bein' so frustrated, y' know." One cold, windy, intensely bright day, Mrs.

May the good ever-loving God fulfil your loveliest dream!" Little Tukey did not at all know what he had dreamed, but the loving God knew it. Along time ago, there lived an old poet, a thoroughly kind old poet.

His voice was hoarse with shouting at the shivering team. That night, as Mrs. Ripley was clearing the dishes away, she got to thinking about the departure of the next day, and she began to soften. She gave way to a few tears when little Tewksbury Gilchrist, her grandson, came up and stood beside her. "Gran'ma, you ain't goin' to stay away always, are yeh?" "Why, course not, Tukey.

Your name shall circulate with renown all round the earth, like unto the ship that was to have sailed from Corsor; and in Roeskilde " "Do not forget the diet!" said King Hroar. "Then you will speak well and wisely, little Tukey; and when at last you sink into your grave, you shall sleep as quietly " "As if I lay in Soroe," said Tuk, awaking.