United States or Yemen ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Robert Whaley, who lived in the town of Castile, within four miles of me, came to my house early on Monday morning, to hire George Chongo, my son-in-law, and John and Jesse, to go that day and help him slide a quantity of boards from the top of the hill to the river, where he calculated to build a raft of them for market. They all concluded to go with Mr.
If David had not confessed to the shooting of Whaley, would he be compelled to give his evidence? Surely, conscience would not require so hard a duty of him. At length he determined to go and see David before he decided upon the course he ought to take. The sheriff's was only about three miles distant. He rode over there at once.
The trapper had brought to the ex-gambler a strange tale of a locket and a ring he had seen bought by a half-breed from a Blackfoot squaw who claimed to have had it eighteen years. He had just finished telling of it when Jessie knocked at the door and came into the room with a bowl of caribou broth. Whaley pretended to resent this solicitude, but his objection was a fraud.
Immediately following that day when she had watched her father from the arbor and had talked with Bobby and Maggie Whaley on the old road, Helen Ward had thrown herself into the social activities of her circle as if determined to find, in those interests, a cure for her discontent and unhappiness. Several times she called for a few minutes at the little hut on the cliff.
"And now don't you think you might tell me about yourselves? What is your name, my boy?" "I'm Bobby Whaley," answered the lad. "She's my sister, Maggie." "Oh, yes," said the Interpreter. "Your father is Sam Whaley. He works in the Mill." "Uh-huh, some of the time he works when there ain't no strikes ner nothin'."
The Martin cottage was built in the days before the success of Adam Ward and his new process had brought to Millsburgh the two extremes of the Flats and the hillside estates. The little home was equally removed from the wretched dwellings of Sam Whaley and his neighbors, on the one hand, and from the imposing residences of Adam Ward and his circle, on the other.
She was quite sure that many a complaint was entered, and many a demand made, that would never have been thought of if Whaley had been the judge of their justice. She had to look at her position in many lights, and chiefly in that of at least five years' poverty. At the New-Year she withdrew her balance from Josiah Broadbent's.
The daughter of this old slave-driver and robber this capitalist enemy of the laboring class Adam Ward, she comes also to see this Interpreter who is such a friend of the people." The Interpreter laughed. "And Sam Whaley's children, they come too." "Oh, yes, that is better. I know Sam Whaley. He is a good man who will be a great help to me. But I do not understand this woman business."
She found a match and lighted a tiny lamp, for it was growing dark. "Bobby tells me that little Maggie is ill," offered Helen. Mrs. Whaley looked toward the door of that other room and wrung her thin, toil-worn hands in the agony of her mother fear. "Yes, ma'am she's real bad, I guess. Poor child, she's been ailin' for some time.
But that was expected by everybody, for Sam Whaley had identified himself from the day of Vodell's arrival in Millsburgh as the agitator's devoted follower and right-hand man. But this unstable, whining weakling and his fellows from the Flats carried little influence with the majority of the sturdy, clearer-visioned workmen.
Word Of The Day