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Updated: October 5, 2025
"But he couldn't get into the sofa!" said Grandmother. Uncle Jonah and Fergus turned the sofa over on its back. "There's no hole," said Grandfather, examining the sofa carefully from end to end, "but there is something moving inside!" He opened his pocketknife and carefully slit the covering at one end. Uncle Jonah and Aunt Esmerelda retreated to the door and looked on with frightened faces.
Without hesitation Dick raised the sash of the window at which he stood and stepped out on the porch top. Soon he was at the other window. It was locked, but the catch was not a strong one, and with the blade of his pocketknife he easily pushed it back. Then the sash came up and he stepped into the bedroom beyond. The room was empty and the bed showed that it had not been used for some time.
He was digging into the caked dirt inside the hoof with his pocketknife, and, though Evadna waited while she might have spoken a dozen words, he paid not the slightest attention and that in spite of the distinct shadow of her head and shoulders which lay at his feet. "Oh Grant," she began perfunctorily, "I'm sorry to trouble you but do you happen to have an empty pocket?"
The image itself is of batikulin, an easily carved wood, and shows considerable skill when one remembers that an ordinary pocketknife was the simple instrument used in its manufacture.
He had anticipated no such delightful sensations. With his pocketknife Will opened the envelope very carefully along the end. With nervous fingers he drew out a legal document, with red seals and several smaller documents attached. For a moment the legal verbiage of the instruments bewildered him. Then he exclaimed: "Why, it's the mortgage! I don't exactly understand! O, Mr.
In the shop where the knife was to be bought an immense tray of every variety of pocketknife was put before them. Huggo opened and shut blades with a curiously impatient air as though afraid of being interfered with before he had made his choice. Immediately beside Rosalie was another mother engaged with another son upon another tray.
Tom sprang at him and drove his pocketknife into him two or three times before the boys could snatch him away and give the wounded lad a chance to escape. He was considerably hurt, but not seriously. If the blade had been a little longer, his career would have ended there. Tom had long ago taught Roxy "her place."
The contents of the boy's pockets naturally made a larger heap, and included marbles, a ball of string, an electric torch, a magnet, a small catapult, and, of course, a large pocketknife, almost to be described as a small tool box, a complex apparatus on which he seemed disposed to linger, pointing out that it included a pair of nippers, a tool for punching holes in wood, and, above all, an instrument for taking stones out of a horse's hoof.
As he entered the highroad, in obedience to a pleasant voice from the "inside," he suddenly reined up his horses and respectfully waited as Tommy hopped out at the command of Miss Mary. "Not that bush, Tommy the next." Tommy whipped out his new pocketknife, and, cutting a branch from a tall azalea bush, returned with it to Miss Mary. "All right now?" "All right."
"Now just edge this way about two steps so your holster will be against the bars," Rathburn instructed. "I can drop you where you stand, reach through the bars an' drag you close if need be; but I'm banking on you having some good sense." The jailer, without moving the hands which held the pencil and his pocketknife, sidled up against the bars. Rathburn leaned forward.
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