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Updated: June 5, 2025
There were no nicely furnished bed rooms inside, and no soft white beds for the tired travelers; there were only little places built into the stones of the wall, something like the berths on steamboats nowadays, and each traveler brought his own bedding. No pretty garden was in front of the inn, for the road ran close to the very door, so that its dust lay upon the doorsill.
Then he removed the fireplace and chimney to what had been the front side of the house, but was now the back. For the next thing, he had a copper doorsill nailed down, which his housemaid polished, until it shone as bright as gold. Yet long before this, his cows had got well, and they now gave more and richer milk than ever. He became the wealthiest man in the district.
Even as he made the promise a shadow darkened the doorsill and Bob Hart stepped into the office. His first words were ominous, but before he spoke both of those looking at him knew he was the bearer of bad news. There was in his boyish face an unwonted gravity. "Fire in the chaparral, Dave, and going strong." Sanders spoke one word. "Where?"
A primrose star was there struggling aloft at the top of a rough rock tower. It was the fish-oil flame of Beaver lamp, and the keeper sat on his doorsill at the bottom of the light-house with his wife beside him. The lowing of cattle missing their usual evening tendance came across from the dock, a mournful accompaniment to the distant roaring of fire and falling of timbers.
They have an infinite interest and curiosity in the hubbub of human moods and crotchets that surrounds us all. And when one leaves their doorsill one has a genial momentum of the spirit that carries one on rapidly and cheerfully.
Hippy lost his foothold on the edge of the doorsill, and the pony, unable to bear the additional weight on its neck, stumbled and went down on the gangway. The animal's hips struck the railing, burst through it, and man and horse rolled off to the ground, Ginger kicking and squealing, with Hippy Wingate clinging desperately to his neck.
He was sitting on the doorsill of Father Beret's hut, when the old man reached it after his visit at the Roussillon home, and held in his hand a letter which he appeared proud to deliver.
As he sat there, the goats, of their own accord, turned and trotted back into a corral near by, the owner of which stood, laughing, on his doorsill; and when Alessandro came up, said goodnaturedly, "All right, Alessandro! I saw you driving off my goats, but I thought you'd bring 'em back." Everybody in the valley knew him, and knew his condition.
There is nothing so soothing to a guilty conscience as to be out of the path of the avenger. Mr. Morehouse stormed into the house. "Where's the ink?" he shouted at his wife as soon as his foot was across the doorsill. Mrs. Morehouse jumped, guiltily. She never used ink.
Then came a tremendous blow; then a foot was seen forcing its way over the doorsill, another moment, and the barrier to the entrance of the invaders gave way with a rattling crash. No sooner was the door burst open, than in rushed several stout men, who proceeded to seize and handcuff the four strangers, who made but the faintest show of resistance.
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