I saw Anderson, with a paper in his hand, walking up to his retreat, as he calls it; so let's make all sail after him, and we shall overhaul him before he begins to read it." There is a small hill just inside of the Greenwich Park gates, commanding a beautiful view of the river and the hospital.

Nevertheless many a mountaineer, gazing admiringly, tried hard to invent a way to the top of its noble crown all in vain, until in the year 1875, George Anderson, an indomitable Scotchman, undertook the adventure.

As the outcome of half an hour's discussion, the whole party advanced slowly upon the house, Anderson Crow in the lead, his dark lantern in one hand, his cane in the other. Half way to the house he stopped short and turned to Bud. "Gosh dern you, Bud! I don't believe you heerd any noise in there at all! There ain't no use goin' any further with this, gentlemen.

For some time neither of the Bruces ventured even to make a wry face at her in school; but their behaviour to her at home was only so much the worse. Two days after the events recorded, as Annie was leaving the kitchen, after worship, to go up to bed, Mr Bruce called her. "Annie Anderson," he said, "I want to speak to ye." Annie turned, trembling.

I do not mean to say that it might not be more agreeable if he were to remain at Greenwich, but he is your father, Tom, and you should make some sacrifice for a parent." "As far as I am concerned, Anderson, I most gladly consent.

You used to call him Alan!" said Mary. "Yes, but that is all over now. You forget what we do on board. Captain Gordon himself calls me Mr. May!" Some laughed, others were extremely impressed. "Ha! There's Ned Anderson coming," cried Mary. "Now! Let him see you, Harry."

"I'm no errant-boy!" cried Anderson Crow so wrathfully that two or three boys snickered. "You're a darned old crank, that's what you are!" exclaimed the stranger angrily. Everybody gasped, and Mr. Crow staggered back against the hitching-rail. "See here, young man, none o' that!" he sputtered. "You can't talk that way to an officer of the law. I'll " "You won't do anything, do you hear that?

"Seems like he wasn't feelin' right cheerful, some way." Dan Anderson gazed after the teamster pensively. "Methinks you are concealing something from us, Tom," said he. "Let's go find out what it is, fellows."

His real name was Anderson. He was weak-minded and childish, his lack of intellect taking the form of silliness rather than of stupidity. Indeed, he was bright and quick in his way, but it was a very foolish and nonsensical way.

That day Mary Anderson walked home to her hotel through the quiet streets of the little Kentucky town which shall be nameless with a sort of miserable feeling at her heart, that the world had no soul for the great creations of Shakespeare's master-mind, which had so entranced her youthful fancy.