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Updated: May 23, 2025
Crazyman, don't you want some cherries? This Arthur makes very dramatic and real, and Tracy holds his breath; and sometimes when the question is more real than usual, little Gretchen puts out her hand, and says: 'Iss, div me some.
She had seen the tall figure of a man pass before the window, and a pale, thin face had for a moment, looked out, apparently to discover whence the talking came. 'I'm going to take the crazyman some cherries, she tried, and almost before Harold could protest, she was half way up the ladder, which she climbed with the agility of a little cat. 'Jerry, Jerry!
I'd carried mamma, and wouldn't let her drop in the snow as papa did. Where was I then, grandpa? But grandpa does not answer, and begins the story of the cherries and the ladder, which Tracy likes even better than that of the carpet bag, particularly the part where the white sun-bonnet appears in the window, and the shrill voice calls out: 'Mr. Crazyman, Mr.
Recognizing Harold, he guessed who the little girl was, and a strange feeling of interest stirred in his heart for her, as he said: 'Poor little waif! I wonder where she came from, or what will become of her? 'Then resuming his walk, he forgot all about the little waif, until startled by a voice which rang, clear and bell-like, through the rooms: 'Mr. Crazyman! Mr.
Mentally weak as he was, and apt to be superstitious, his limbs shook, and his heart beat faster than its wont, as he went toward his sleeping-apartment, from which the voice came again a little louder and more peremptory: 'Mr. Crazyman! where are you? I've brought you some cherries!
'You owe me nothing, Cherry; the indebtedness is all on my side, and has been since the day when a little white sun-bonnet showed itself at my window, and a clear, ringing voice, which I can hear yet, said to me, "Mr. Crazyman, don't you want some cherries?" You don't know how much of life and sunshine you brought me with the cherries.
It was Arthur's bedroom, and there was no one in it, but she heard the sound of footsteps in the adjoining apartment, and raising herself as far as possible, and holding up her pail, she called out in a clear, shrill voice; 'Mr. Crazyman, Mr. Crazyman, don't you want some cherries? Arthur had passed a restless night. Indeed all his nights were restless, but this one had been especially so.
Crazyman! don't you want some cherries? It was not so much the words as something in the tone, the foreign accent, the ring like a voice he never could forget, and which the previous night had called to him in his dreams. And now it was calling again not in his sleep, but in reality, for he knew he was awake calling from the adjoining room, which no one could enter without his knowledge.
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