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Updated: June 12, 2025
"I've suffered mor'n once from raids on my orchards and chicken coops, and found it was some town boys, off on what they called a lark, that made other people suffer." "But I assure you there is not the slightest possibility of any boy here having taken your chickens, sir," continued the scout master. "We've been on the move all day long," added Tom, "and only arrived here half an hour back.
"Here 's news come that the British fleet of mor'n a hundred sail is arrived inside o' Sandy Hook, an' all the Jersey militia hez been ordered out, an' here 's a whole regiment o' Pennsylvania 'Sociators on theer way tew Amboy tew help us fight 'em, an' more comin'; an' as if everythin' was tew happen all tew once, here 's Congress gone an' took John Bull by the horns in real arnest."
"But I don't want the letters, Miles," said Harry. "I've nothing to do with them. Give me the telegrams, and I'll send them across." "Don't want de letters?" cried Miles, his eyes and mouth wide open in astonishment. "Why, I can't carry de letters ober no mor'n I kin de telegrams." "Well, neither can I," said Harry. "Den what's de use ob dat wire?" exclaimed Miles.
"Yes I can," said Reuben, quietly; "I guess ye feel suthin ez I uster baout Jemimy, sorter light inside an so pleased like ye don't keer a copper ef ye live or die. Yes, I know mor'n ye think I dew baout the feelin's a feller hez long o' women, on'y ye see it didn't come ter nothin with Jemimy, fer wen my fust crop failed, an I was tuk for debt, Peleg got her arter all."
With his knife he hollowed a grave, where he placed the body, still wrapped in its deerskins. He noted on a finger of one hand a gold ring, a queer possession for a backwoodsman. This he took off and dropped into the pouch which hung round his neck. "I reckon it'd better go to Mis' Hanks. Jim's gal 'ud valley it mor'n a wanderin' coyote."
"Look here," said I. "Tell me the truth, I can bear it. Was that vessel wrecked?" The man looked at me a little queerly. I could not exactly interpret his expression. "You're sure you kin bear it?" said he. "Yes," said I, my hand trembling as I held his coat. "Well, then," said he, "it's mor'n I kin," and he jerked his coat out of my hand, and sprang away.
"Moses Spriggins, I'm ashamed of your ignorance; why it's pink veiling Miss Lottie has on, and I'm sure she looks nicer than any of them china-faced dolls in shop winders." "Wal, wal, Melindy, you wimin folks oughter know mor'n men folks," replied Moses rushing out of the front door to see if the "hosses were all seen to."
"I fear it was my fault," admitted Parmalee. "Mr. Drew accidentally knocked my cane out of my hand, and I flew off at a tangent and was nasty about it when he apologized." "Nothing mor'n that?" said Tyke, with relief. "You young fire-eaters shouldn't have such hair-trigger tempers." "Shake hands now and forget it," admonished the captain genially.
"'Not at all, says I. 'It ain't mor'n fifty feet, and that was before he was all wore out runnin' for the Presidency. "'Oh, I see, says Percival. 'Don't think I meant to doubt you. "'I didn't, says I, my conscience biting me again. "There was no help for it, though; he had to have a story of every queer-looking hole, rock, tree, or mud-puddle we saw.
But that's all passed now, you know, and in future I'm to be 'onest and good." "How far from this entrance is the camp?" asked Murden. "Not mor'n a mile, sir." "Then lead the way. Maurice, walk by the side of him, and if but you know what I mean." "I think I do, sir," answered the policeman, drawing one of his formidable holster pistols, and examining the cap with a careful glance.
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