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Updated: May 10, 2025
I suppose that's why Mr. Lupo made his mysterious visit to the village: to get supplies." "I'm thankful it's all gone and there is no more," announced Percy. "It's something less to carry," he added, tying a cord around Nancy's coat and his own and hanging them over his back like a peddler's pack.
At least he was just going to resign for he felt that he must draw the line somewhere, and it seemed to him that to draw it at kitten-drowning was about the right thing when there was an interruption. The interruption was John Canty with a peddler's pack on his back and Hugo.
The girl was pretty, and companionship with her might have suited even a judge's garments. But the young man and the girl were quite absorbed in each other, and the trousers kicked and the frock-coat flirted ineffectually. A peddler's cart passed very slowly, but the driver did not look up from a paper filled with figures.
That year the soil came out from under the snow rich and malmy to the plow, and Mosher started heavy with his peddler's pack and returned light.
The disgrace of toil will almost kill him. His two sisters are as bad as he is. They've never done a stroke of work, either. All three have lived on the poor old peddler's earnings all their lives, though not one of the three would be willing to keep the old man's house for him. There are a lot of sons and daughters like them to-day. Perhaps there always have been." Mr.
When she did, there sat the peddler displaying his wares, and expatiating volubly on their transcendent merits. And there stood Sally and Mrs. Oleander, devouring the contents of the box with greedy eyes. It is not in the heart of women country women, particularly to resist the fascinations of the peddler's pack. Mrs.
"You know all there is to know," said the valet, evidently disappointed that he had nothing to tell which could win the peddler's gratitude. "There are no secrets about it. Everybody knows that they were a very happy couple, and even if there was a little talk between them on that day, why it was pure accident and had nothing to do with the mistress' excitement."
But neither the allusion to the peddler's parentage nor the invocation of the Deity had the slightest effect upon the fellow's mercenary soul.
And then all the little and big forest folk began to sing: "Hip, hip hurray, the peddler's gone away. No more he'll make his tin pans shake And spoil our singing school beside the Forest Pool."
I can throw off here the peddler's pack of artificialities that Vanity Fair imposes, and carry only the inevitable burden of manhood. The air is less poisonous to body and mind than in the cities. The groves were God's first temples, and may be the last." "See here, Hartman.
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