United States or Libya ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
I am going because I happen to take a notion to do so. Perhaps I'll be able to serve you at the same time." The Professor grasped Mr. Kringle by the hand impulsively. "I'll send that lazy Juan on his way this very night " "Let me do it," interposed Stacy, with flushing face. "I'll do it right, Professor. But I'll put on my pair of heavy boots first, so it'll hurt him more."
The first thing to be done is to get to them as quickly as possible, though I don't know that we can do any good. They're either out of it, by this time, or else they're not," added Mr. Kringle suggestively. "Professor, I wish you and one of the boys would get out your rifles, mount your ponies and watch the camp, while two of us go in search of the lost ones." "Watch the camp?" "Yes."
Kris Kringle spoke to them sharply, whereupon they came trotting up to him with every evidence of pleasure. The lads were amazed. "Can you boys shoot a rope?" "Yes," they answered together. "Which one is the better at it?" "Ned is more expert than I am." "Take one of my ponies. We've got to go after the stock. Rope and bring them in as fast as possible.
"It's a pony," gasped the Pony Rider boy. Kris Kringle was off his own mount instantly, and bidding Ned hold the animal, he made a brief examination of the fallen horse, after which he darted here and there, unheeding the fact that the still burning grass was blistering his feet through the heavy soles of his boots.
But the rest were already dashing madly toward the camp and Professor Zepplin began to do so with all speed to catch up with them. The hot breath of the prairie fire had brought the color to his blanched cheeks. "How how do you think the fire started?" stammered the Professor, when he at last came up with the guide. "It was set afire," answered Kris Kringle grimly.
They'll perish!" exclaimed Professor Zepplin, with blanching face. "Go to them, go to them, Mr. Kringle!" he begged. "No living thing could get through that wall of fire, Professor," announced the guide impressively. "We'll shout and perhaps, if alive, they'll bear us." They did so, with the result already known. "Which direction did Master Stacy take?" Mr. Kringle asked.
I took Kris Kringle for the subject of a theme the other day, and represented him as caught in an iceberg in the grim north, and not being able to reach all the poor little children in the tenements and hovels. The Haddock said it showed imagination. "There was a lecture at school on Emerson the other day. The speaker was a noted literary lecturer from New York.
Hard is the lot of childhood that knows nothing of the visits of Kriss Kringle, or the stockings hung by the chimney at night; and cheerless is any age that is not brightened by some Christmas gift, however humble. What a mystery of preparation there is in the preceding days, what planning and plottings of surprises!
Hello, here comes the gentleman who gave me the advice that helped me to win those handsome spurs. He's introducing himself to the Professor and Mr. Kringle. Let's go over." Forgetting for the moment the subject they were discussing, Tad and Stacy strolled over to the camp-fire. "O Tad, this is Mr. Marquand, Mr. James Marquand from Albuquerque. He wants to know you.
The crack of a rifle afar off sounded clear and distinct. "He's made it. Thank heaven!" breathed Mr. Marquand fervently. Chunky leaped to the opening, swung his sombrero as he leaned out, and uttered a long, shrill "y-e-o-w!" A bullet chipped the adobe at his side. Stacy ducked, throwing himself on the floor, sucking a thumb energetically. "Wing you?" inquired Kris Kringle.
Word Of The Day