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Updated: June 3, 2025
But all the wild animals had not yet sought their winter sleeping quarters, for there descended upon the Hardings' hog-pen an old bear who evidently desired one more meal of succulent pork before retiring to his burrow. The remaining swine were shut up now in a close yard of logs; but the bear got over that fence with ease.
Every one laughed or ventured to smile, every one except the Hardings and Captain Hallett and, of course, Galusha Bangs. The latter's thoughts were not in the light keeper's parlor. Cousin Gussie leaned over and whispered in his ear: "Loosh," whispered Mr.
The old ranger, lacking any regular abiding place of his own, often visited the Hardings and helped in the work of the farm. But he was a wanderer by nature and could not stay in one place long at a time. So, being off to the northward, the widow allowed Enoch to join him for a week or two. It was not wholly game that Bolderwood was after, however. At least, not game for present killing.
As Malling thought over these parting words, he realized their wisdom and wondered at his own short-sightedness. He had sent his cards to Onslow Gardens after the luncheon with the Hardings. He wished now he had called and asked for Lady Sophia. But doubtless he would have an opportunity of being with her again. If she did not offer him one, he would make one for himself.
But the winter came without any alarm to the Hardings, and drew its slow length across the green hills and valleys like some albino monster of prehistoric times. The firs were snow-crowned and the white mantle lay deep in the hollows. Bryce and Enoch added generously to the family larder by the fruit of their hunting-trips, for there was plenty of time for such sport now.
"I have been utterly deceived by my employers," said Theriere, hastening to take advantage of the tacit permission to explain which her reply contained. "I was given to understand that the whole thing was to be but a hoax that I was taking part in a great practical joke that Mr. Divine was to play upon his old friends, the Hardings and their guests.
I discreetly questioned Miss Ross, Miss Dangerfield and others whom I met, and all that I learned was this: A few days after my departure the Hardings suddenly decided to go to England, or France or Germany or somewhere.
"How does it happen that the Hardings are coming here?" asked Mrs. Chilvers, when told the cause of this excitement. "Are they Mr. Carter's guests?" "Mr. Harding is a charter member of Woodvale," I informed her. "For some unknown reason he joined the club when it started, but has never been here, and I doubt if he has ever played golf.
I have just returned from a walk on the veranda. Miss Ross came to me, greatly excited. "They are here!" she exclaimed. "Who; the Hardings?" I asked. "No, their trunks are here. And what do you think?" "I would not make a guess," I declared. "Miss Harding has only six trunks, and I had seven myself." The sweet creature was happy and immensely relieved.
In Whistler's lagoon etchings one finds the authentic note and in Clara Montalba's warm evanescent aquamarines; while for the colour of Venice I cannot remember anything finer, always after Turner, than, among the dead, certain J.D. Hardings I have seen, and, among the living, Mr.
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