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Updated: May 18, 2025
The three musicians were all foreigners French or Italian. The man who played the harp was a huge, fleshy man, with a red waistcoat and long, black mustache. The waistcoat and mustache were the two most noticeable things about him. He sat on a little campstool while he played. The musicians struck into some rollicking ditty that pleased the ear.
Hard was that daughter in every way; you would have counted her age in winters, not in summers, so obviously untender were her years. An iron plait of hair lay for about six inches down her spine; her feet and ankles made the campstool on which she sat, looking pathetically ethereal.
He was a bird-like little fellow, with thin canary-colored hair and eyebrows and colorless eyes, and he was seated upon a campstool about two feet from Gethryn's head. He blinked at Gethryn. "These Frenchmen," said he, "have as many lives as a cat." "Thanks!" said Gethryn, smiling faintly. "An Englishman!
The news that the Russians were attacking the left flank of the French army aroused that horror in Napoleon. He sat silently on a campstool below the knoll, with head bowed and elbows on his knees. Berthier approached and suggested that they should ride along the line to ascertain the position of affairs. "What? What do you say?" asked Napoleon. "Yes, tell them to bring me my horse."
"Howdy, pardners?" was the greeting from the bad man, that caused Tom Reade almost to fall from his campstool. "How are you, Peter?" returned Tom. "This is, indeed, a pleasure." "Where's the boss?" continued Bad Pete. "If you mean Mr. Thurston, he's away." "Where's Blaisdell, then?" "He hit the trail, just a few minutes ago," Tom responded.
"Then," said he, "I must go down and get my gillie, and show him his future home." He went below the hurricane deck to a corner in which Oscar was chained up. Beside the dog, sitting on a campstool, and wrapped round with a tartan plaid, was the person whom Macleod had doubtless referred to as his gillie. He was not a distinguished-looking attendant to be travelling with a Highland chieftain.
"Johnny, my man, come on deck now, and I will show you where you are going to live. You're all right now, aren't you? And you will be on the solid land again in about ten minutes." Macleod's gillie rose or, rather, got down from the campstool, and showed himself to be a miserable, emaciated child of ten or eleven, with a perfectly colorless face, frightened gray eyes, and starved white hands.
"I hope it's nothing worse than a mouse," Lil said, tremblingly. Laura had sprung up on the instant and run to the cook tent. Liz had dropped a pile of plates, and some of them were broken. She had deposited herself stiffly in a campstool. Her body was quite stiffened and her eyes fairly bulged and it was not easy for Liz Bean's eyes to bulge!
"We need not crowd ourselves with the table," he said. "There will be light enough. We only want to talk." "Very well," said Marian, rising. "Will you give me that woolen thing that is on the sofa? It will do me for a shawl." He placed it on her shoulders, and they went out. "I will sit in this corner," said Marian. "You are too big for the campstool. You had better bring a chair.
The seats, except those saved for the nobility, are soon all taken, and the ladies who come after seven are lucky if they can get within the charmed circle, and find a spot to sit down on a campstool. They can then see only a part of the proceedings, and have a weary, exhausting time of it for hours. This year Rome is more crowded than ever before.
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