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And what darkened Belding's horizon was the thought that Clark, at any moment, might swing toward Elsie Worden. Two miles away, Fisette was at home with his children. He was tired but in no way worn out, and in his pocket was one single piece of ore kept as a souvenir. Clark's check lay safely deposited in the bank and the halfbreed's teeth gleamed when he thought of the mortgage.
The rangers approved of Belding's plan, and Thorne choked in his effort to express his gratitude. "All right, we'll chance it," concluded Belding. "I'll go out now and call Rojas and his outfit over... Say, it might be as well for me to know just what he said in that paper." Thorne went to the side of his wife. "Mercedes, we've planned to outwit Rojas. Will you tell us just what he wrote?"
The Story of a Postponed Thanksgiving By Kate Upson Clark. Older boys and girls who are familiar with "The Courtship of Miles Standish" will enjoy the colonial flavour of this tale of 1705. "Obed!" called Mistress Achsah Ely from her front porch, "step thee over to Squire Belding's, quick! Here's a teacup! Ask Mistress Belding for the loan of some molasses.
Her face, except when she smiled, was thoughtful and sad. It was a face to make one serious. Like a haunting shadow, like a phantom of happier years, the sweetness of Nell's face was there, and infinitely more of beauty than had been transmitted to the daughter. Dick believed Mrs. Belding's friendship and motherly love were worth striving to win, entirely aside from any more selfish motive.
You've been splendid ever since we met and really I didn't want you to say what you did." "Perhaps not in the way I said it." Belding's face became suddenly rigid. "And perhaps now I know why. You see it's hard for me to compete with my own chief," he added grimly. "That's not fair," she burst out, her cheeks flaming. "If you really cared you wouldn't say it."
Nell Burton had never shown to Gale that daring side of her character which had been so suggestively defined in Belding's terse description and Ladd's encomiums, and in her own audacious speech and merry laugh and flashing eye of that never-to-be-forgotten first meeting. She might have been an entirely different girl.
The tremendous force of the blast in the adjoining field had obstructed or diverted the underground stream of water. Belding's never-failing spring had been ruined. What had made this little plot of ground green and sweet and fragrant was now no more. Belding's first feeling was for the pity of it. The pale Ajo lilies would bloom no more under those willows.
It so happened that Miss Hitty Belding's sharp eyes, as she passed Mistress Elliott's back door, bound on an errand to the house of the neighbour living just beyond, fell upon the rich golden brown of this wonderful cake. As such toothsome dainties were rare in Colchester at just this time, it is not strange that her childish soul coveted it, for Hitty was but ten years old.
Many of the newcomers, both American and Mexican, who came with wagons and pack trains from Casita stated that property and life were cheap back in that rebel-infested town. One January morning Dick Gale was awakened by a shrill, menacing cry. He leaped up bewildered and frightened. He heard Belding's booming voice answering shouts, and rapid steps on flagstones. But these had not awakened him.
Did he care for them? It would have been hard to say. He never looked at the fierce and haughty Diablo, nor at Blanco Sol as he raised his noble head and rang his piercing blast. The Indian did not choose one of Belding's whites. He caught a lean and wiry broncho, strapped a blanket on him, and fastened on the pack.
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