Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 13, 2025
The elder Ridgeley had been dead many years; the simple faith had gained few proselytes; Uncle Aleck's sermons made little impression, and gained nothing in clearness of statement or doctrine, but ripened and deepened in tenderness and sweetness. His people remained unpopular, and nothing but the force of character of a few saved them from personal proscription.
It was getting near to dark as they reached No. 6 again, and Ridgeley drew up and helped them out and into the cook's shanty. Mrs. Field was introduced to the cook, a short, rather sullen, but intelligent man. He stood over the red-hot stove, laying great slices of beef in a huge dripping-pan.
He watched Anne closely, and once when they climbed a hill together and she gave out, he carried her to the top. He managed to get his ear against her heart, and what he heard drained the blood from his face. As for Anne, she thought how strong he was and how fair his hair was with the sun upon it, for he had tucked his cap in his pocket. That night Christopher again spoke to Ridgeley.
Whether she would have espied the same causes for loving exultation in him, had he been a poor clergyman or merchant's clerk, was an irrelevant consideration. The master of Ridgeley was not to be contemplated apart from the possessions and dignities that were his inalienable pedestal.
That the fellow's nature was low, and that he was compelled to act as he had done, was little comfort to him. He was glad that he decided not to punish or expel John. Darkness came, and he was aroused by a noise at the door. He unlocked it, and found Canfield and Morey and Smith. "Hullo, Ridgeley!" exclaimed the former.
The guests were very distinguished-looking, all the men in dress suits and appearing just as much at home in them as Ridgeley Holman Dobson had, that night on the Opera House stage. Yes, and he was there, in Missy's vision, handsomer than ever with his easy smile and graceful gestures and that kind of intimate look in his dark eyes, as he lingered near the hostess whom he seemed to admire.
A few very cold gray days followed, and then the north wind cleared the sky; and, though it was still cold, it was pleasant. The sky had only a small white cloud here and there to make its blueness the more profound. Ridgeley dashed up to the door with a hardy little pair of bronchos hitched to a light pair of bobs, and Mrs. Field was tucked in like a babe in a cradle.
I'm no common hand, or I wouldn't be if I But let that go. I can swing an axe, and I'm ready to work. That's enough. Now the question is, can you find a place for me?" Ridgeley mused a little. The young fellow stood there, statuesque, rebellious. Then Ridgeley said, "I guess I can help you out that much." He picked up a card and a pencil. "What shall I call you?"
Ridgeley had quietly assumed her natural place for a day, to go back to her round of widowed love, care and toil. She would make occasion to see her, and perhaps find some indirect way to be useful to both mother and son.
Such men are so set in their habits, nothing but a miracle or hypnotism can save them. He'll end up as a 'lumber Jack, as the townsmen call the hands in the camps." "But he isn't that, Edward. He's finer some way. You feel he is. Ask Mr. Ridgeley." Ridgeley merely said: "Yes, he seemed to me to be more than a common hand.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking