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Updated: May 7, 2025
When he reached the edge of the clearing he paused, and approached slowly. "Roger Strong!" he called out. I instantly recognized the voice of Dick Blair, one of the youngest members of the Models, who, during my capture, had had little to say or do. He was the son of a wealthy farmer who lived but a short distance down the road from the Widow Canby's place.
He stopped, startled; then he realized that Wanda Malone's hair was not red. The girl in the limousine had red hair, and was altogether unlike Wanda Malone in feature and expression. He walked on angrily. Immediately a slender girl, prettily dressed, passed him. She clung charmingly to the arm of a big boy; and to Canby's first glance she was Wanda Malone.
I had been in Boston only a short time when it was discovered that a story similar to "The Frost King," called "The Frost Fairies" by Miss Margaret T. Canby, had appeared before I was born in a book called "Birdie and His Friends." The two stories were so much alike in thought and language that it was evident Miss Canby's story had been read to me, and that mine was a plagiarism.
"For the last time let me say I have not seen your papers." "It is false. You took them from this room last night. At the very time you pretend you were after the robber at Mrs. Canby's house you were here ransacking my desk." "Mr. Woodward " "There is no use in denying it. I have abundant proofs.
We'll dig the potatoes when they're ripe." "'Gents, we was the toobers! An' yere the Major pauses for a drink. 'We was the potatoes which Canby's exultin' over! We don't onderstand it at the time, but it gets cl'arer as the days drifts by. "'I'm never in a more desolate stretch of what would be timber only thar ain't no trees.
Its breathing could be heard plainly and its distended nostrils were blood-red. Many things passed swiftly through Canby's calculating mind in the few seconds that remained for him to decide. His boots had filled and he was soaked to the waist; he knew that if he left the horse and swam for it he had small chance of success.
No one cared to go to a restaurant, and we took the first train homeward. It was dark when we reached Newville. The Widow Canby's carriage was at the depot waiting for us. "Suppose I get my ticket for Chicago now," said I. "It will save time Monday, and I can find out all about the train." "A good idea," returned my uncle. "I'll go with you." So while Kate joined Mrs. Canby we entered the depot.
I have been in command of the southern district of Alabama since the commencement of General Canby's expedition against Mobile, and have been in command of the district and post of Mobile, with headquarters at Mobile, from June until the 25th of August, and relinquished command of the post on September 4.
She was aware that with Canby's money and her personal popularity she could make an enviable position for herself very easily, and she was nothing if not ambitious. The traits in Canby which so frequently antagonized her, his arrogance, his selfish egotism and disregard of others' rights and feelings, to-day were not in evidence.
That Gen'ral Canby, who later gets downed by the Modocs, is on the Rio Grande at Fort Craig. While we're pirootin' about in a blind sort o' fashion we ropes up one of Canby's couriers who's p'intin' no'th for Fort Union with despatches. This Gen'ral Canby makes the followin' facetious alloosion: After mentionin' our oninvited presence in the territory, he says: ""But let 'em alone.
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