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Updated: July 27, 2025
As the light grew in the room his mind cleared, and lifting his muscular arm he opened and shut his hand, saying aloud, in his old boyish manner: "I guess I'm all here." "What's that?" called Hartley, rolling out of bed. "Did you ask for anything?" "Give me some water, Jim; my mouth is dry as a powder-mill." "How yeh feelin', anyway, pardner?" said Hartley, as he brought the water.
They keep us from petrifying altogether during the dull seasons. And they don't have to be real fires, either. Any old alarm will do. Our fire-bell sounds just as terrible for a little brush fire as it would for a flaming powder-mill. It's an adventure merely to hear the thing. Take a winter night in the dull season after Christmas, for instance. You have begun to go to sleep right after supper.
Filled with gratitude for the trust he reposed in her, Dorothy took her leave, and the two workmen immediately abandoned their shop for the night, leaving the door wide open behind them to let out the vapours of the fire-engine, in the confidence that no unlicensed foot would dare to cross the threshold, and betook themselves to the powder-mill, where they continued at work the greater part of the night.
Flora seemed to nerve herself: "Anna, every dollar we had, every picayune we could raise, grandma and I, even on our Mobile house and our few best jewels, is is " "Oh, what what? Not lost? Not not stolen?" "Blown up! Blown up with that poor old man in the powder-mill!"
'Your page, my lord, she said, 'seems to know something of him: if it pleased you to put him to the question 'Hey, Scudamore! said the marquis without turning his head; 'what have you seen of my lord Herbert? 'As much as could be seen of him, my lord, answered Scudamore. 'He was new from the powder-mill, and his face and hands were as he had been blown three times up the hall chimney.
'Speak of Jenkins, and you'll hear the rustling of his paper, cried Tom, as a fresh-faced, brown-eyed young man came up the avenue, waving a newspaper over his head. 'Here's your Evening Tattler! Latest Edition! Awful murder! Bank clerk absconded! Powder-mill explosion, and great strike of the Latin School boys! roared Ted, going to meet his cousin with the graceful gait of a young giraffe.
He had made them a speech, he had chased the ringleaders all round the room, and he had thrown his stick at Peter, who seemed the most riotous, but all in vain; they became worse and worse, laughing into fits, and calling Andrew "the police officer and the bailiff." It was a very different story, however, when Mrs. Crabtree appeared, so flaming with fury she might have blown up a powder-mill.
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