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"Little pigs!" she added in low tones only heard by the author and Mr. Red House. But Mr. Red House said in a whisper that no one overheard except Mrs. R. H. and the present author. "Don't, Puss-cat; it's no good. The poor little pariah wouldn't like it. And these kids only do what their parents teach them." If the author didn't know what a stainless gentleman Mr.
Ain't he got a new pair of pants, a blouse, a navy blue tie and a new stickpin? And as for the programme, he warns her to watch out "fur us kids because we're going to be fixed up for something, but I dassent tell because it's a surprise the teachers got up."
Kali must still have her blood, and hundreds of kids, goats, buffaloes, and other animals are sacrificed daily at her shrine. We saw the bloody work going forward. Crowds of pilgrims, numbering at least three hundred during our short stay, came in bands from the country to propitiate the goddess. Each one presents an offering as the idol is shown.
It was the turn of the handy man to laugh. "I filed one fellow and eight kids for one hundred and sixty acres each." "You didn't contract to pay each of the little olive branches three-hundred?" "Lord, no! If the dad sits tight till we prove up entry, he's to get three-hundred! No fear of his blabbing.
"Now, kids," said Uncle Sam in a low voice as they neared the reviewing-stand, "walk right up and mind your manners. Salute and give him the bouquet, and speak your piece." "We haven't any piece to speak," quavered Pierrette, very much frightened, "except to wish him many happy returns of his birthday." Uncle Sam's eyes twinkled.
His bloody shirt stuck to his skin he was haggard, pale; and we dropped naturally into conversation. In language intelligible to him I asked him what life meant to him. "The kids," he said, "that's what it means to me. I work like one of the things I kill every day I kill hundreds of them, thousands of them every day.
"Wal, now, sonny, you ain’t really wantin’ this here book back? Never knowed any li’l boy what warn’t glad to see th’ last o’ a book. Better git away from a real man ’fore you gits yore backside warmed. That’s what th’ teacher does to smarty kids, ain’t it?" "You’d better watch out, Sam." Again the tall man cut in.
I've often thought I'd like to see a big, roomy house somewhere along these cliffs, and kids playing around. You and Betty may have your troubles, but you're starting right. You ought to get a lot out of life. I didn't. I made money. That's all. Poured it into a rat hole.
I have the satisfaction of knowing I give you your money's worth for the salary you pay me. My kids have as good teachers as there are anywhere. We see plenty of people and I belong to a club or two. I bear a good reputation in the town and try to keep things going in the right direction. We have all the books and magazines we want to read.
Sometimes, Evvy, do you know, they liked to talk to quite little kids of seven and eight better than me." "Perhaps you talked too much yourself and about yourself?" "I don't think I did. And if you don't talk something, they yawn and go away." "You've got to let them do the lion's share, child. Just you sit still, and listen, and pretend you like it even though you're bored to extinction."
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