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Updated: June 18, 2025
"You will do nothing for her?" As much to prop an opinion of human nature that was already too low for comfort as in Andrea's interest, Bachelder asked the question. "She has the house furnishings," Paul sullenly answered. "That leaves her a sight better off than she was before she knew me." Rising, the artist walked over to the window.
"Wall, to tell the truth, Bachelder, I ain't quite so well posted with the Old Testament as I be with the New, but," he continued, resolutely, "if it would be any favor to the company as near as I calkalate, this ere Antynias heered that the Lord was a goin' by, and, as near as I calkalate, he clim' up in a tree to see him pass."
He lived in the town's great house, an old feudal hacienda with walls two yards thick, recessed windows oaken grilled, and a pleasant patio where the hidalgo could take his ease under cocoanut palms and lemon trees while governments went to smash without. Here Bachelder was always to be found in the heat of the day, and here he listened with huge disgust to Paul's story.
And I shouldn't be surprised any day to see her snatched away by some widower or bachelder of proper age. She would be willin', so it is spozed. Wall, Sister Henn kinder relented at the last, and brung two pairs of fowls, all picked, and tied up by their legs. And we thought it wuz kinder funny and providential that one Henn should bring four more of'em.
John Bachelder introduced the horizontal table upon which to lay the work. Through an opening in the table, tiny spikes in an endless belt projected and pushed the work for ward continuously.
Although not one of us had fired the shot that killed either Heywood or Gustavson, our attorneys, Thomas Rutledge of Madelia and Bachelder and Buckham of Faribault, asked, when we were arraigned, Nov. 9, that we be given two days in which to plead.
"He'll never come back," the artist muttered. "Poor Andrea! But it is better now." Warm with the pity the thought inspired, he turned the corner into the street that led to the post-office, and was almost run down by the first mule of a train that came driving through the rain. "Bachelder!" the rider cried. It was surely Paul.
"Man!" they both cried in low quick voices. Colin pointed to the high wall. "Look!" he whispered excitedly. "Just look!" Mary and Dickon wheeled about and looked. There was Ben Weatherstaff's indignant face glaring at them over the wall from the top of a ladder! He actually shook his fist at Mary. "If I wasn't a bachelder, an' tha' was a wench o' mine," he cried, "I'd give thee a hidin'!"
"Man!" they both cried in low quick voices. Colin pointed to the high wall. "Look!" he whispered excitedly. "Just look!" Mary and Dickon wheeled about and looked. There was Ben Weatherstaff's indignant face glaring at them over the wall from the top of a ladder! He actually shook his fist at Mary. "If I wasn't a bachelder, an' tha' was a wench o' mine," he cried, "I'd give thee a hidin'!"
"Not much leeway, that's a fact, Bachelder," said Captain Sartell, who had an embarrassed way, particularly when discussing subjects of a religious nature, of twisting his powerful blonde head about, and swallowing very hard. "D d little leeway, I must confess, wall all the same for you and me, Bachelder." Bachelor Lot smiled a little. "Heh! What streuck 'em eany way?
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