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Updated: June 17, 2025
Look it straight in the face without prejudice. Who would do more for Karl than any one else on earth? Who is closer to him than any one else in the world? Who can make him see without seeing? yet, know without knowing? Dr. Parkman," voice eager, eyes very tender "is there any question in your mind as to who can come closest to Karl?" "But but " he gasped.
PARKMAN, FRANCIS. Born at Boston, September 16, 1823; graduated at Harvard, 1844; published "The Conspiracy of Pontiac," 1851, and continued series of histories dealing with the French in America to "A Half Century of Conflict," 1892; died at Jamaica Plain, near Boston, November 8, 1893.
Parkman's office, and she was not very familiar with Chicago had it never occurred to Karl she might get lost and have some unfortunate experience? But fate did not favour her mood, and she reached the office in safety. Dr. Parkman did not seem at all surprised at seeing her alone, which flamed the fire anew. "He hasn't backed out?" he demanded, laughing a little.
Parkman, the only weak people in this world are the people who sit down and say that things are impossible. The only big people are the people who stand up and declare in the face of whatsoever comes that nothing is impossible. For Karl there is some excuse; the shock has been too great his blindness has shut him in.
On Saturday, the 24th, the day after his settlement with Parkman, Webster paid into his own account at the Charles River Bank the cheque for L18, lecture fees, handed over to him by the agent Pettee just before Dr. Parkman's visit on the Friday. This sum had not apparently gone towards the making up of the L90, which Webster said that he had paid to Parkman that day.
So they all left the hotel together, and commenced their walk towards the bridge where the nearest landing stage for the Thames boats lay. They had not gone but a very short distance before Mrs. Parkman began to hang rather heavily upon her husband's arm, and asked him whether it was much farther that they would have to walk. "O, yes," said Mr. Parkman.
I make the epilogue of this story my tribute to Francis Parkman, who has in a sense made this all possible for me: first, by reason of the love he gave me long ago for his New France with its primeval forests, its virgin prairies, its glistening rivers, its untamed Indians, its explorers, its gray and black cowls, its coureurs de bois, its stars whose light had never before looked on a white face; and second, by reason of the mass of incident and color which he has supplied for the background of the life I have known in that valley.
The hostess wore a beautifully ruffled apron of white and kindly presented her guest with a kitchen apron of blue. Beer was served freely during the evening." "Is that last as close as your paper comes to the truth?" asked Ernestine, piling up Emerson that he might not be walked upon. "That last, my dear, is a hint a good, straight-from-the-shoulder hint. I did it for Dr. Parkman.
"Oh, Karl Karl!" she sobbed across the black chasm of the year "if I could only have had that hour!" But the days which came then were different. Dr. Parkman had stirred her to a discontent with despair. She had come West with Georgia and Joe. For five days they had been at this little town on the Oregon coast. Through the day and through the night she listened to the call of the sea.
He tried not to care that the youngest McGuire children stood at their gate and whispered, with fingers plainly pointing toward himself. He did not go near the schoolhouse, and he stayed at the post-office until he felt sure all the scholars must have reached home. Then, just at the corner of his own street, he met Mazie Sanborn and Dorothy Parkman face to face.
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