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Updated: June 1, 2025
"Just hear that, will you!" he exclaimed. "Why, that's my name, my very own name, sir! Well, well, well, well!" He stared at the child until he began to feel foolish and uncomfortable. What image of his own vanished youth did that boyish face recall to the eccentric old banker? As Mr. Dearborn turned to go Steven started after him.
About the time of his departure for Malden, Prevost had received from Foster, late British minister to Washington, and now in Nova Scotia, letters foreshadowing the repeal of the Orders in Council. In consequence he had sent his adjutant-general, Colonel Baynes, to Dearborn to negotiate a suspension of hostilities.
I don't know that it interests me much now. But I think I had better go. At once, within the week. I've not much heart in it; but it seems under the circumstances to be appropriate." He held out his bared hand. Laura saw that he was smiling. "Well, Miss Dearborn good-by." "But why should you go?" she cried, distressfully.
"A slight misunderstanding, which will hardly grow to any serious end," he protested. "I trust not, gentlemen, for the time is come when we women at Dearborn surely need you all to protect us. Our case already appears desperate." "Has something new occurred," I questioned anxiously, "that makes you more alarmed?" Her eyes, grown strangely serious once more, swept our faces.
He was so grateful for that light which came after he thought the darkness had settled down. It will light his way to the end. "We've come to Z, and it's good-bye. There is one thing I can give you without hurting you, the hope, the prayer, that life may be very, very good to you." The sheets of paper fell from her hands. She sat staring out into Dearborn Street. She began to see.
"Rebecca, I am afraid I punished you more than I meant," said Miss Dearborn, who was only eighteen herself, and in her year of teaching country schools had never encountered a child like Rebecca. "I hadn't missed a question this whole day, nor whispered either," quavered the culprit; "and I don't think I ought to be shamed just for drinking."
The first log house built south of Dearbornville, in the town of Dearborn was built on it by John Blare in the year 1832 or 1833. It was one mile south of Dearbornville. So there was a house standing there when we were slowly making our way to Michigan. When we came, it was the first house south of Dearbornville. Mr.
Miss Dearborn commonly went home with a headache, and never left her bed during the rest of the afternoon or evening; and the casual female parent who attended the exercises sat on a front bench with beads of cold sweat on her forehead, listening to the all-too-familiar halts and stammers.
Soon after the death of Captain Jephthah Richardson, the tavern was sold to Timothy Spaulding, who carried on the business until his death, which occurred on February 19, 1808. Spaulding's widow subsequently married John Spalter, who was the landlord for a short time. About 1812 the house was rented to Dearborn Emerson, who had been possession of it for a few years.
Tom Burns, an old scout of Wayne's, and a settler in that country, was at Fort Wayne a month since with an urgent message from the commandant at Dearborn. I tell you frankly, it will be touch and go with us." "Chicagou?" I questioned, for the word was one I had heard but once before and was of an odd sound.
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