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Updated: June 23, 2025
"I know just whom we can get," Bobby said, eagerly, that evening when the girls and some of the boys were assembled as usual on the Belding front porch. "Who's that?" "That Bean girl," said the groceryman's daughter. "Who's she? Miss Boston Bean?" chuckled Chet. "Lizzie Bean! I know who she is," exclaimed Laura. "She's the girl who's been helping the Longs since Alice came back to school.
"You see, dad told me I could pick up some pet animals while I was in Texas, and I got quite a collection while dad was in the hospital. Here is one in my pocket," and the boy took a horned toad out of his pocket, about as big as a soft-shelled crab, and put it in the old groceryman's hand.
The blood of the little dying animal dripped on her clothes. She swung it over her head and shouted. The farm hand who had worked all summer in the field within sight of Elsie became enamoured of the young woman from town. When the groceryman's family appeared on Sunday mornings he also appeared but did not come to the house. When the boys and dogs came tearing through the fields he joined them.
"We didn't stay hardly any after that," said the boy, as he pushed the prairie dog along the counter toward the groceryman's cat, hoping to get them to fighting. "The landlord said we dam yankees were too strenuous for his climate, and if we didn't get out of the house in fifteen minutes he would get a gun and see about it, and he left two policemen to see that we got away.
Hopwood was around here to-day all swelled up with the stories you've been feeding him. It ain't right, my son, and, what's more, it ain't honest. You might just as well pick his pockets and give the money to the bookmakers." "The bookmakers won't get fat on what they take away from him," was the careless rejoinder. "This fellow has got a groceryman's heart.
"Don't have to change your shirt when you travel," said the boy, as he slipped an imitation snake into the side pocket of the old groceryman's sack coat. "We are going to see all the world, now that we have started in the traveling industry, but our next move will be chasing ourselves around our own native land.
"That looks bad for my first shot at this queer case," he said; "but perhaps she didn't dare work the game while I was in the house." He glanced out of the window of the room. Two servants were in the yard. They seemed to be explaining the robberies to a new driver of a groceryman's wagon, for they had one of his arms apiece, and were pointing to the window.
"Well, it was about a stand off," said the boy, as he made a slip noose on the end of a piece of twine, and was trying to make a hitch over the bob tail of the groceryman's dog, with an idea of fastening a tomato can to the string a little later, and turning the dog loose.
Yet it was this queer little beak, with his eyes, that made his countenance anything of a face at all. From a distance he looked like the groceryman's delivery boy in a small town. His dress seemed an acknowledgment of his grotesqueness: a short coat, like a little boys' roundabout, and a vest fantastically sprigged and dotted, over a lavender shirt. At the sound of a muffled buzz, Mr.
There was a crash in front of the door, a barrel of axe handles and garden tools had been tipped over on the sidewalk, the door opened with a jerk and closed with a slam, and the bad boy came in with a long paper bax, perforated with holes, slammed it on the counter beside the groceryman's legs, and yelled: "Wake up, Rip Van Winkle, the day of judgment has come, and you are still buried.
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