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Updated: June 16, 2025
"You can't dig when the ground's froze hard," Eva said, with literal meaning. "Then I'll take a pickaxe," cried Jim. "You can dig, but who's goin' to pay you for the diggin'?" demanded Nahum Beals. "The idea of a girl's bein' afraid I wa'n't enough of a man to support a wife with an arm like that," said Jim Tenny, "as if I couldn't dig for her, or fight for her."
Now he proceeded tentatively, lifting high his little hoofs to avoid the half-seen inequalities of the ground and the ground's growths, wondering whether he were to be called on to rope or to drive. When the rider had approached to within a hundred feet, the cattle started. Immediately Button understood that he was to pursue.
The ground's crumbling from under my feet. Rossiter and drove his hands together. Then he went on more quietly. "It's like fighting in a fog, Bobby. There's the thing I want somewhere, just beside me I want Clare, Clare as she used to be when we were first married but I can't get at her and yet, through it all, I don't know what it is that stops me.
His face was flushed, his eyes glittered, and moving feebly he sank further down with his back against a stone. He looked seriously ill, but Harding, realizing that the situation must be grappled with, resolutely pulled himself together. "You can't lie there; the ground's too wet," he said. "It's drier on yonder hummock and we'll have to get you across to it.
Something to sit on when the ground's dirty or swampy. A table? Something to eat off or write at when there ain't a flat rock handy. Not friends not pieces of yourself which is what you make of 'em. Release yourself from this tyranny of material things as your pater used to quote Socrates or some other old codger as saying. We don't want tents, and the women must do with the howdah."
'N-o-a, no, ar don't want to be sociable, growled he, diving into his trouser-pockets, and wriggling about on his chair. 'Well, then, what will you do? asked Miss Howard. 'Hunt, replied the youth. 'Hunt! exclaimed Bob Spangles; 'why, the ground's as hard as bricks. 'N-o-a, it's not, replied the youth. 'What a whelp! exclaimed Miss Howard, rising from the table in disgust.
But nobody knows jest where he is now. Stone's gone, an' th' ground's all level that end. He wus on'y a Frenchman. But th' admiral, now you're talkin'! He pays cash, an' don't make no bargain rates, when he wants a job done. Go wan, y' ol' nag; what y' dreamin' of?" "There might be history in that corner of the graveyard," said Breitmann. "Who knows?
"Strengers," began he, "when you scare up a grizzly, take my advice, and gie 'im a wide berth that is, unless yur unkimmun well mounted. Ov coorse, ef yur critter kin be depended upon, an' thur's no brush to 'tangle him, yur safe enuf; as no grizzly, as ever I seed, kin catch up wi' a hoss, whur the ground's open an' clur.
"Look here, old man," Macauley cried, sudden conviction seizing him, "you're working altogether too hard. This miserable city epidemic has done you out. I've thought all the time you were trying to cover too much ground." "Ground's had to be covered," replied the other briefly, without opening his eyes. "Have the other fellows worked as hard as you?" "Harder." "I don't believe it.
The slightest frost in spring, or sun in summer, and the ground's so hard, you might as well gallop your horse down the pavement of Grafton Street." "Confound the horse," answered Frank; "come here, Dot, a minute. I want to speak to you." "What the d l's the matter? he's not lame, is he?" "Who? what? Brien Boru? Not that I know of. I wish the brute had never been foaled." "And why so?
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