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Updated: June 6, 2025


It was the old, old story retold that day on the Colorado plains by the sunlit waters of the Arickaree the white man's civilization against the untamed life of the wilderness. And for that struggle there is only one outcome. Before the advancing foe, in front of the very centre of the foremost line, was their leader, Roman Nose, chief warrior of the Cheyennes.

And he would make good resolves and, for the moment, firm ones, and return to town when the dew was falling and the moonlight coming, and the tale was but retold. And the woman was wise, as women are, and conscienceless, yet suffering a little, too.

=Another Bears' House.= This house, shown in Frontispiece, was made in the spring, near the end of the school year, by a class of first-grade children all of whom were under seven and many of whom were very immature. The story of the Three Bears was taken up after Christmas, told and retold, read, and dramatized by the children. Teddy bears were brought to school.

The article retold the old tale of the fight and portrayed Slade, on his release, viewing the range which he had once controlled and finding a squatter family on every available ranch site. She had a flash of sympathy for Slade as she thought his sensations must have been similar to her own when she had looked upon the ruins of the Three Bar.

Moliere took those old stories and retold them in his own language. That is precisely what I am suggesting that you should do. Your company is a company of improvisers. You supply the dialogue as you proceed, which is rather more than Moliere ever attempted. You may, if you prefer it though it would seem to me to be yielding to an excess of scruple go straight to Boccaccio or Sacchetti.

My reflections, as I proceeded, perpetually revolved round a single point. These were scarcely more than a repetition, with slight variations, of a single idea. When I awoke in the morning, I hied, in fancy, to the wilderness. I saw nothing but the figure of the wanderer before me. I traced his footsteps anew, retold my narrative, and pondered on his gestures and words.

None the less, he would continue to be certain that a gentleman would always take the Episcopal way. To Nancy Allan retold this, adding, "You know, I'm going to use it in a sermon some time." "Yes it's very funny," she answered, a little uncertainly. "Funny?" "Yes." "Do you think so?" "Of course I've heard the bishop tell it myself and I know he thinks it funny."

Thereupon Pharaoh retold his dreams, with all details and circumstances, and precisely as he had seen them in his sleep, except that he left out the word Nile in the description of the seven lean kine, because this river was worshipped by the Egyptians, and he hesitated to say that aught that is evil had come from his god.

It was Mugambi, whom Jane had thought dead amidst the charred ruins of the bungalow. Ah, such a reunion! Long into the night the dancing and the singing and the laughter awoke the echoes of the somber wood. Again and again were the stories of their various adventures retold.

Major Talbot, sitting quietly, but white with indignation, heard his best stories retold, his pet theories and hobbies advanced and expanded, and the dream of the Anecdotes and Reminiscences served, exaggerated and garbled. His favorite narrative that of his duel with Rathbone Culbertson was not omitted, and it was delivered with more fire, egotism, and gusto than the Major himself put into it.

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