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Updated: June 6, 2025


I believed that I was in time to warn him of the threatening danger, that I had outsped the warrant, that I had outrun the redoubtable Lukens, and in the luxury of that thought my overtaxed strength ebbed away and I sank down on a stump, hot and panting. I had run a hard race for so small a boy.

"You see, I was a-comin' up here from the Centre, so's to see if Sam couldn't wait for his roundabout till arter Thanksgivin'; for Keziah Perkins, she 't was my sister's husband's fust wife's darter, 'n' finally married sister's fust husband's son, she's a real likely woman, and she's wrote over from Taunton to ask me to go there to Thanksgivin'; 'n' to-day's Monday; 'n' I was a-comin' here Tuesday so's to make Sam's roundabout; 'n' yesterday Miss Luken's boy Simon, he 't a'n't but three year old, he got my press-board, when he was a-crawlin' round, 'n' laid it right onto the cookin'-stove, and fust thing Miss Lukens know'd it blazed right up, 'n' I can't get another fixed afore Wednesday, and then I'd ought to be to Taunton, 'cause there a'n't no stage runs Thursday, and there hadn't oughter, of course"

Lukens finds in his studies of drawing, that in what he calls his fourth period of artistic development, there are those "who during adolescence experience a rebirth of creative power."

Rome Lukens and rendered the following upon her favorite instrument: "Well! if that woman ever gits the fever an' gits deliriums, I want to be round, handy like. I'll swan there'll be more interestin' things told than we've heerd in our born days that woman is allus thinkin'!" In this final respect, the judgment of the Lady of the House of Fivecoats was sound. How gallant the mind is!

In 1853 the Lukens family bought Port Royal House and for several years a boarding school was conducted there. As the manufacturing about Frankford grew, the locality lost its desirability as a place of residence. The house was abandoned to chance tenants and allowed to fall into an exceedingly delapidated condition.

At the name of the constable Penelope broke into laughter, and placed a hand on my arm to draw my eyes to her. "Mr. Lukens was here this morning, Davy, just before you came. And, oh, you should have seen father knock him down!" My fork and knife clattered to the plate as I turned to the girl, and she saw doubt and wonder in my eyes. "He did!" she cried.

This was the cry of a man worse hurt than Byron Lukens, and in a rush of boyish pity for him I forgot my dread and running to him threw my arms about him, hugged him as I should have hugged my dog in a mute appeal for pardon. So we three stood there in silence, the Professor, Penelope, and I, with arms intertwined and our heads close together.

My mother tiptoed across the room and gently pushed me out of the door. "David, go to bed!" she commanded. To bed I went, but not to sleep. Did I close my eyes I saw the Professor in the clutches of Byron Lukens being dragged along the village street amid the jeers of the people.

This, to me, was the hero who had knocked down the constable, and I imagined him confronting a dozen like Byron Lukens and piling them one on top of the other, for surely things had come to pass that the man would have to hold the clearing against an army. But as suddenly the shoulders drooped, the back bowed, the head sank, and he turned to me.

How it came about that he had not drunk a drop for several weeks, none but Brown and Mrs. Lukens could have told. Tim's glance was often upon Brown's face the look in his eyes, now and then, reminded Brown of that in the eyes of his dog Bim when he had earned his master's approval, shy but adoring.

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