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That graveyard at Tarrytown, for instance. The asses who give money to preserve things have spoiled that too. Sleepy Hollow's gone; Washington Irving's dead and his books are rotting in our estimation year by year then let the graveyard rot too, as it should, as all things should. Trying to preserve a century by keeping its relics up to date is like keeping a dying man alive by stimulants."
To-night he stood on the kitchen hearth of Hollow's cottage, after his return from Whinbury cloth-market, and Caroline, who had come over to the cottage from the vicarage, stood beside him. Looking down, his glance rested on an uplifted face, flushed, smiling, happy, shaded with silky curls, lit with fine eyes.
So the girls sat up that night and watched, until, close upon midnight, they heard the tramp of hundreds of marching feet. The mob halted by the rectory for a muttered consultation, and then moved cautiously along towards the Hollow's Mill. In vain did the two watchers try to cross to the mill by fenced fields and give the alarm.
Moore placed his hand a moment on his young cousin's shoulder, stooped, and left a kiss on her forehead. "Are you certain, Robert, you are not fretting about your frames and your business, and the war?" she asked. "Not just now." "Are you positive you don't feel Hollow's cottage too small for you, and narrow, and dismal?" "At this moment, no."
I stood in contemplative admiration meditating, as I waited for my coolies, who sat moodily under a dilapidated roadside awning, nonchalantly picking out mouldy monkey-nuts from some coarse sweetmeat sold by a frowsy female. Then upwards we toiled in the dark, the weird groans of my exhausted men and the falling of the gravel beneath their sandalled feet alone breaking the hollow's gloom.
Robert Moore, of Hollow's Mill, was one of the most unpopular of the mill-owners, partly because he haughtily declined to conciliate the working class, and partly because of his foreign demeanour, for he was the son of a Flemish mother, had been educated abroad, and had only come home recently to attempt to retrieve, by modern trading methods, the fallen fortune of the ancient firm of his Yorkshire forefathers.
But the wounded forepaw was a hindrance to the lion's movements, and he began to crawl along the hollow's edge, seeking a better point from which to make a leap. Then Dick's pistol spoke up a second time. This shot was a far better one, and the bullet passed directly through the knee-joint of the lion's left forepaw.
"Well, sir, it is this-er-way" The Hollow's soft running of the words together delighted Levi's ear "when the poor little creatures have had their fight out on the upper floor and have got down to these small rooms and have realized that they are human beings, then we're going to fix them fix them, sir, right here!"
Natalie, who like all people of charm, was many years younger inside than she was out, immediately perceived that the introduction of mammy in her best Sunday turban into that congregation would do a great deal toward destroying its comatose atmosphere. Like many another New England village church, Stub Hollow's needed a jar and needed it badly. But it wasn't the church that got the jar.
Sleepy Hollow's right in the village, and most likely there'll be a light in the Doctor's study window; be quick, for Heaven's sake, Miss Flower?" "Yes, I'm off. Oh, Maggie, Maggie! what do you think? That dreadful woman has stolen my shoes. I forgot all about it until this minute. What shall I do? I can't walk far in my stockings."
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