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Updated: June 25, 2025
Pokey had tried to gambol also, and had tumbled into a shallow pool, whither Jamie had gallantly followed, in a vain attempt to fish her out, and both were paddling about half frightened, half pleased with the unexpected bath.
"That's my dolly; isn't she a nice one?" asked Jamie, proudly surveying his pet with his hands behind him and his short legs rather far apart a manly attitude copied from his brothers. "She is a dear dolly. But why call her Pokey?" asked Rose, charmed with the new plaything.
Pokey and her mother joined the party, and one bright September morning six very happy-looking people were aboard the express train for Portland two smiling mammas, laden with luncheon baskets and wraps; a pretty young girl with a bag of books on her arm; a tall thin lad with his hat over his eyes; and two small children, who sat with their short legs straight out before them, and their chubby faces beaming with the first speechless delight of "truly travelling."
"Fun?" said Lena, "we'll do every fine thing we can think of. I'll tell Rob, and he'll help us make it jolly. He always does, and he likes Rose as well as we do." "And who's Lester Jenks?" Lena asked, "is he the poetry girl's brother?" "Oh, no, he's her cousin, and he's full of fun, and fine to play with," said Polly, "and he thinks Evangeline is pokey, and he laughs at her poetry.
"Yes." "We might try Richmond." "Don't fool yourself," she returned hardily; "I know all about those trial trips. Any man I go with has got to go far: I don't intend to be left at some pokey little way station with everything gone and nothing accomplished." "But," he objected, "a man who went with you could never come back."
As I say in my celebrated rhyme on "Greatness": The greatest man in all the world, by far the greatest one, Is he who goes ahead and does what no one else has done. But he must be the first if he would rank as some "potaters," For those who follow after him are merely imitators. "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the Bellows. "You are a great chap, Pokey you, with your poetry.
She visited certain shops that she knew of queer little, quaint, out-of-the-way shops quite pokey little places; but from their depths she managed to extract one or two round tables, one or two easy-chairs, a few brackets, which could be easily converted into book-shelves, a certain sofa, with not too hard a back, a couple of fenders, some fire-irons, some cups and saucers, some dinner plates.
Cornelia's mood changed before it. The excitement which had tided her over the events of the afternoon died away, to be succeeded by a wave of sickening home-sickness. She was lonesome she wanted her poppar! She hated this pokey place, and everyone in it.
From what Uncle Geoffrey tells me, we shall be very poor." "I am not afraid of poverty, Esther." "But still you will be grieved to leave Combe Manor," I persisted. "Perhaps we shall have to live in a little pokey house somewhere, and to go out as governesses." "Perhaps so," she answered, serenely; "but I shall still find time for higher duties. I shall be a miser, and treasure all my minutes.
"Girls in those novels don't talk to their mothers like that," said the elder woman severely. "They have different sorts of mothers," said Nancy, serenely turning over a page. "I hate little pokey ships and sailors smelling of tar. I never saw a sailor I liked yet." The mate's face fell. "There's sailors and sailors," he suggested humbly.
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