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Updated: June 17, 2025
She put the spurs to Buster and was gone into the starlight. The men spurred after her, but she reached the home corral before they did. And John could storm only at the deeply perturbed Mary, for Doug and Judith went to bed, pulled the covers over their heads and were heard no more that night.
"Yes, he ought to," from another of the group, "but he wont." "When I was a kid I was told that a bird what can sing and wont sing should be made to sing, and that fits Buster now." "Oh, well, Alaska's a big place, and there's plenty of natives. It don't matter if a few does die off, There'll be enough left, I reckon," carelessly remarked a man who had not spoken.
Sweetest Susan caught her breath with a gasp, and laughed hysterically. She had been very much alarmed. "I expect that's what it is," said Buster John, but there was some doubt in his tone. He turned to Mr. Thimblefinger, who had followed them. "What time is it, please?" Mr. Thimblefinger drew his watch from his pocket with as much dignity as he could assume, and held his head gravely on one side.
"He's a little late," went on Buster, "but I think he will be here soon, and I hope you will be glad to meet him. Ah, there he comes now!" Old Mr. Toad looked in the direction in which Buster Bear was looking. He gave a little gasp and turned quite pale. All his puffiness disappeared. He didn't look like the same Toad at all. The newcomer was Mr. Blacksnake. "Oh!" cried Old Mr.
When they had raised it exactly as Farmer Green wanted it other men began to pound about the foot of it with hammers. But Buster Bumblebee though he watched everything very closely hadn't the slightest idea what they were doing. "Hi, there!" he called to old dog Spot. "Where's the raising bee?" Old Spot promptly looked bewildered. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replied.
"How about eggs, then?" shouted somebody in the crowd. It was stupid Buster Bumblebee! And of course nobody paid any heed to his silly question. As he stared at Mrs. Ladybug dully Daddy Longlegs let his mouth fall wide open. "Why, what do you mean?" he demanded at last. "You and I aren't talking about the same sort of butter at all! You're describing the kind of butter that Mrs.
She picked her way through the debris; she dropped her head from the burning; she felt her delicate garments moistening with perspiration, her hair dampening; the dust sifted up through the air. Over in the large corral a bronco buster, assisted by two of the cowboys, was engaged in roping and throwing some wild mustangs. The sight was wonderful, but here the dust billowed in clouds.
She had had no invitation to spend the winter in the fine, big house. But she didn't care to have her neighbors know that. "There's just one thing to do," Buster Bumblebee decided. "I'll ask the Carpenter Bee if he's building a house for her." So he went to the big poplar by the brook, where the Carpenter Bee lived.
"I don't feel so funny," snarled his parent, finally extricating himself unaided from the tangle. "Sure you're not hurt, Junior?" "No, I'm not hurt," repeated the boy. "Nor Buster ain't hurt. And see this girl, Pop. Buster knows her." Mr. Ravell Bulson just then obtained a clear view of Nan Sherwood, against whom the little dog was crazily leaping.
It fell sort of flat, that remark. But no one could calculate on his infernal cunnin'. I quit workin' for Belllounds that night, an' I've put my time in spyin' on the boy. In my day I've done a good deal of spyin', but I've never run across any one slicker than Buster Jack. To cut it short he got himself a white-speckled mustang that's a dead ringer for Spottie.
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