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Updated: May 22, 2025
"Wuss!" exclaimed the baker with profound contempt. "Eh?" snarled the little man with an evil upward glance at the other. "Jest this," cried Wilkes with heat. "The feller that hangs his feller man on slim evidence is a lousy, yaller skunk. Say he'd orter hev his belly tarred, an' a sky-rocket turned loose in his vitals. I sez right here the evidence against Jim ain't 'nuff to condemn a gopher.
But there was also a stranger, a thick tall man of thirty-six or -seven, with stolid brown hair, lips used to giving orders, eyes which followed everything good-naturedly, and clothes which you could never quite remember. Mr. Marbury boomed, "Carol, come over here and meet Doc Kennicott Dr. Will Kennicott of Gopher Prairie.
You stay, and we'll have a funeral. It isn't every common, scrub gopher that can have a real funeral with mourners and music when he goes over the Big Divide. He he'll appreciate the honor; I would, I know, if it was me." The schoolma'am took a few steps and stopped, evidently in some difficulty with her glove.
The next instant he took the string into his mouth and bit it ferociously. The little girl paled at the sight, and arose trembling to her feet. This shortened the snare, and the gopher came nearer, tumbling over and over through the grass. Remembering her stick, the little girl backed slowly toward it, not taking her eyes off him for an instant.
It may be that he thinks, when the reins are over his head and down on the ground, they are tied to something, so he could not run away if he wanted to. At any rate, Clipclap and Star Face stayed where Ted and Janet left them, and the little Curlytops watched the gopher hole. "I wonder when he'll come out," said Janet after a bit. "Shs-s-s-s!" whispered Teddy. "Don't talk!"
Besides, it was his own game which An-ina had taught him, and no one else played it in the same way. Every dead gopher An-ina told him meant more food for the pappoose on the Reserve. And it was the child's desire that the pappoose on the Reserve should eat to repletion. The game entailed the lighting of a fire.
'Sublime! Second verse, said Bell slowly, with pauses between the lines: 'Or did a gopher, The wicked loafer, Gnaw at thy base, And, doing so, Contrive to go, And leave no trace? 'Oh dear! sighed Margery; 'if you will do it, wait a minute. 'O toadstools white, Pray give us light Upon the question. Did gopher gnaw, And live in awe Of indigestion? 'Good! continued Bell:
He was at once too sensitive and too sophisticated to touch business as she knew it in Gopher Prairie. With restrained amusement he was analyzing the noisy Mr. Zitterel. Carol was ashamed to have this spy from the Great World hear the pastor's maundering. She felt responsible for the town. She resented his gaping at their private rites. She flushed, turned away.
If she sees fit to found a modern sect of Troglodytes, I can't understand that the wheels of society are thereby scotched, or that the public has a shadow of right to raise a hue-and-cry and strive to unearth her, as if she were a fox, a catamount, or a gopher.
With none of the spiritual preparation which normally precedes the buying of new clothes in Gopher Prairie, Carol marched into Mrs. Swiftwaite's, and demanded, "I want to see a hat, and possibly a blouse." In the dingy old front parlor which she had tried to make smart with a pier glass, covers from fashion magazines, anemic French prints, Mrs.
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