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Updated: June 7, 2025
One year, in May, after we had repaired the brush fence, we turned into it our three Morgan colts along with two Percherons from a stock farm near the village, a Morgan three-year-old belonging to our neighbors, the Edwardses, three colts owned by other neighbors, and a beautiful sorrel three-year-old mare, the pet of young Mrs. Kennard, wife of the principal at the village academy.
I play Kennard in the morning. He's a snap." "Why don't you pick out someone who can play? Don't win the tournament too easily, Amy. They'll get onto you." "That's so, but I can't afford to take any chances. There you are! Now you're all right. Up, Guards, and at them!" "I'm not a guard; I'm a tackle," corrected Clint as he experimentally bent his knee up and down. "It does feel better, Amy.
I'm sorry that you gained the impression I should use wood instead of concrete; and it never was in my mind to do so, to use wood. My decision was fully made when you raised the matter in the hotel parlour at Kennard, and I explained my reasons for the decision. I didn't tell you bluntly, perhaps.
So Kennard stayed on, unable to tear himself away from her, and obtained an unlucrative post as accountant in a small wine shop over by Montmartre.
"I was brought here with no chance to inform Alpha Prime's Emperor Kennard. If I'm able to return, I can explain things myself; if I can't, for whatever reason, I'd appreciate it if you'd notify my Sovereign of the circumstances." "I'll see to it, Ranger. Is there anything else?" "Just one thing, if I can indulge my curiosity." The Emperor chuckled. "A weakness you know I share. Go ahead."
In a country house near Wanstead, in Essex, one of England's bravest admirals, Sir William Penn, lay on a bed of sickness. By his side stood a grave-looking gentleman in a scarlet cloak, and huge ruffles on his wrists. "Tell me honestly, Master Kennard, whether you deem this sickness unto death?"
A carload of cement from here, gravel from the river, and a dozen Kennard carpenters to knock together gate and drop frames no trick to crack that nut. Frost, lad, frost! It's the thing to set us groaning." Bryant sat down and put his hand on the speaker's knee. "Pat, if we go into this thing and put it through, there will be a good fat bonus for you." "Maybe there will be and maybe there won't.
One couldn't exactly put finger on it. Something in his gray eyes, perhaps; something in the sharper stamp of his aquiline nose, of his lips, of his bronzed jaw; something in his whole bearing. It went deeper than features, too; she sensed a change in the spirit of the man from what it had been that day of his going down to Kennard, when he strolled with her in her garden.
The first Harvard team coached by Haughton defeated Yale. It was in 1908 when Haughton used a spectacular method, when he rushed Vic Kennard into the Crimson backfield after Ver Wiebe had brought the ball up the field where Haughton's craft sent Vic Kennard in to make the winning three points and Kennard himself will tell the story of that game.
Lib, Brown and Joe were the names of our Morgans; Chet was the name that the Edwards young folks gave theirs. Yet none of them was so pretty as Mrs. Kennard's Sylph. She was, indeed, a blonde fairy of a mare, as graceful as a deer. On the afternoon that we took Sylph up to the clearing, Mrs. Kennard walked all the way with us, because she wished to see for herself what the place was like.
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