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Updated: June 2, 2025
As things were, the only comfort I could give my poor parents was to let them think I left Kenmore with with a young man. Something had occurred that looked wrong. It was only a terrible experience. No one helped me but Master Farwell. My my people turned from me." "It was Farwell's way: to help where he had faith," murmured Boswell.
"That's so," said Vial, familiarly known as Bottles. "That chap Sykes, Farwell's friend. He's a dandy dribbler. He could take Cassap's place on left wing and let Cassap take goal." With immense relief the team accepted this solution of the difficulty. But gloom still covered Sam's face. "He's only been here two weeks," he said, "and you know darn well the rule calls for four."
Miss Farwell's face shone now with that mother-look as she lowered her head until the sick girl could see straight into the deep gray eyes. The poor creature gazed hungrily breathlessly. "Now don't you know that I care?" whispered the nurse, and the other burst into tears, grasping the nurse's hand in both her own and with a reviving hope clinging to it convulsively.
"It was not Hope Farwell's way to theorize about the causes of the wreck, or to speculate as to the value of inventions for making more efficient the life-saving service, when there was a definite, immediate, personal something to be done for the bit of life that so closely touched her own." "Nurse!" Miss Farwell turned quickly. The girl on the bed was watching her with wide wondering eyes.
Denny had gone up town on some errand. Much to Miss Farwell's surprise Dan did not, as usual, take the path leading to the garden, but kept straight ahead to the porch, and his face was very grave as he asked if he might come in. She welcomed him with frank pleasure, and took up at once the thread of conversation which the visit of the Elders had interrupted the day before.
It was Farwell's dog, the old one, the one who used to play with Priscilla when she was a little girl. "You dear!" she cried, dropping beside him; "You've come to show me the way. Beg, Tony, beg like a good fellow. I have a bit of cake for you!" Clumsily, heavily, the old collie tried to respond, but of late he had been excused from acting; and he was old, old.
"Go in an hour or two?" gasped Priscilla absentmindedly, following Farwell's words and accepting the money with a long, tender look of gratitude. "In an hour or two? Why, you've only just come in, Master Farwell!" "What matters? After to-morrow I shall have time to rest and sleep to my fill." "You will miss me, Master Farwell?" Priscilla's eyes were dim. "I would like to have some one miss me!"
"Farwell's the best man we can have there if anything goes wrong," said York positively. "He'll bring these ranchers to time. I'll send him." Farwell descended on the Coldstream country in a bitter temper, for the job was far beneath his professional dignity as he looked at it, and he knew that in the meantime others would get better work to which he considered himself entitled.
To him the engineer addressed himself. "I'm Farwell," said he. The agent halted the truck, smiled in friendly fashion, swung around, and presented his left ear cupped in his left hand. At the same time a strange, pungent odour assailed Farwell's nostrils. "What did yez say?" he asked. "Onforch'nately me right a-cowstick organ is temp'rar'ly to the bad from shootin' a po-o-olecat.
Then Priscilla wheeled about lightly and displayed her gown to Farwell's astonished eyes. "Cast-offs," she explained; "the Honourable Mrs. Jones from the States left them with Mrs. McAlpin for the poor. Just imagine the 'poor' glinting around in this gay silk gown all frayed at the hem and in holes under the arms!
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