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Updated: May 18, 2025
At that time it was a dim, unknown land, a kind of novelists' Coast of Bohemia, an appropriate setting for distressed princesses. I'll hazard a guess that there was not a peak in all that district on which there was not some Black Rudolph's castle, not a road that did not clack romantically with horses' hoofs on bold adventure.
As the poet came nearer he heard the clack of the mill, and saw the good-natured, homely woman of the house knitting on a garden bench, and keeping an eye upon a little one who was chasing the hens about. Lucien came forward.
He stood outside in the gateway: Madame Babette opened a pane in her window, counted out the change, gave polite thanks, and shut to the pane with a clack, before he could ever find out what to say that might be the means of opening a conversation.
"Now, old Bell, I'll fight you, if you think yourself aggrieved, while the doctor sees fair play." "Old who?" shouted the admiral. "Bell, Bell is not your name Bell? a family cognomen, I presume, on account of the infernal clack, clack, without any sense in it, that is the characteristic of your race." "You'll fight me?" said the admiral, jumping up. "Yes; if you challenge me."
Some of the miners, who thought themselves strong men, looked on admiringly as Tom swung the pick again and again. Clack! clack! clack! "Some muscle there," proclaimed Tim Walsh. "I didn't think it was in a slim fellow like you." "I haven't so much muscle," Tom informed him, "but I have a tremendous amount at stake here. One of you shovelmen come forward and get this stuff back."
It was plain to everybody that Rachel had said something short and plain as her answer had been which gave him the upper hand of her at last. "Oh?" he said. "Miss Clack is here as YOUR guest in MY house?" It was Rachel's turn to lose her temper at that. Her colour rose, and her eyes brightened fiercely. She turned to the lawyer, and, pointing to Mr. Ablewhite, asked haughtily, "What does he mean?"
Jed, in the course of his varied experience afloat and ashore, had picked up a working knowledge of gasoline engines and, anyhow, as he informed his small passenger, the "Araminta's" engine didn't need any expert handling. "She runs just like some folks' tongues; just get her started and she'll clack along all day," he observed, adding philosophically, "and that's a good thing in an engine."
But when she does, you must listen; and as soon as she is close to you throw away the comb, and it will sprout up into such a forest that she will never get through it at all." "But she'll hear the loom stop," says the little girl. "I'll see to that," says the thin black cat. The cat took the little girl's place at the loom. Clickety clack, clickety clack; the loom never stopped for a moment.
He's goin' to hold communion." "You'll stay to dinner, Will?" asked Agnes. "Yes-if you wish it." "I do wish it." "Thank you; I want to have a good visit with you. I don't know when I'll see you again." As she moved about, getting dinner on the table, Will sat with gloomy face, listening to the "clack" of the old man.
His sister and girl jest worshipped him, and looked and longed for his comin', as only tender-hearted wimmen can love and worship a hero. For if there wuz ever a hero it wuz Ralph Smith Robinson. Wall, Ralph had been in the unbroken silences of nature so long, that the clack, and crash, and clamor of what we call civilized life almost crazed him.
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