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Updated: May 13, 2025
Jim Simmons has and doesn't half feed, and that have to go hunting around folks' back doors in the rain, when cats hate water, too, and pick things up that must be bad for their stomachs, when they ought to have their milk regularly in nice, clean saucers. No, Arnold Carruth, what we have got to do is to steal Mr.
"How can they be burglars when they are cats?" demanded Mrs. Meeks, testily. Arnold Carruth snickered, and Johnny on one side, and Lily on the other, prodded him with an elbow. They were close under the window. "Burglars is up to all sorts of queer tricks, ma'am," said Jane. "They may mew like cats to tell one another what door to go in." "Jane, you talk like an idiot," said Mrs. Meeks.
That night Arnold Carruth realized himself as having an actual horror of his helpless state of pampered childhood. The man stirred in the soul of the boy, and it was a little rebel with sulky pout of lips and frown of childish brows who stole out of bed, got into some queer clothes, and crept down the back stairs.
R. M. Carruth, New Roads, corresponding secretary; Miss Lois Janvier, New Orleans, recording secretary; Miss Olivia Munson, Napoleonville, treasurer; Mrs. Fannie Wolfson, Coushatta, auditor. This board was unchanged until 1915, when Mrs. Clarence King of Shreveport became treasurer and Mrs. M. H. Lawless of Garden City and Mrs. D. C. Scarborough of Natchitoches, auditors.
The blue was of a peculiar shade, of a very soft material, and nothing could have been prettier. Jim Patterson did not often look away from little Lucy; neither did Arnold Carruth; neither did Bubby Harvey; neither did Johnny Trumbull; neither did Lily Jennings; neither did many others. Amelia Wheeler, however, felt a little jealous as she watched Lily.
But she had finished her dinner and had been excused, and was undressing for bed, with the firm determination to rise betimes and dress and join Johnny Trumbull and Arnold Carruth. Johnny had the easiest time of them all.
Impatiently he tried to banish them, but stern as was his attempt their laughter still sounded in his ears. Against his will he was back at the ball game, and this time he was on his feet shouting wildly with the other fans as Carruth, the star batter, made a soaring hit and stole two bases on it.
Arnold Carruth, in spite of his being such a beautiful little boy, would have had no standing at all in the school as far as popularity was concerned had it not been for a strain of mischief which triumphed over curls, socks, and pink cheeks and a much-kissed rosebud of a mouth.
"What did you say, little Lucy?" he asked. "Jim Patterson asked me to marry him when I asked him to tell me how much seven and two made in my arithmetic lesson." Cyril Rose and his cousin Martha looked at each other. "Arnold Carruth asked me, too, when a great big wasp flew on my arm and frightened me." Cyril and Martha continued to look. The little, sweet, uncertain voice went on.
Arnold Carruth, as one of the teachers permitted herself to state when relaxed in the bosom of her own family, was "as choke-full of mischief as a pod of peas.
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