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Updated: June 27, 2025
This expectation tempted Sanna and she mastered herself so far that she took a swallow of the liquor. Then the boy drank a little, too. The exceedingly strong extract took effect at once and all the more powerfully as the children had never in their life tasted coffee.
Arrived at the location of the memorial post, Sanna was the first to notice that it stood no longer there. They went up to the spot and saw that the round, red-painted post which carried the picture was lying in the dry grass which stood there like thin straw and concealed the fallen post from view.
I wadna hae disturbit ye, sir, but I saw the twa een o' a wullcat, or sic like, glowerin' awa yonner i' the mirk, an' they fleyt me 'at I grippit ye." "Weel, weel; sit ye doon, bairnie," said the mad laird in a soothing voice; "the wullcat sanna touch ye. Ye're no fleyt at me, are ye?" "Na!" answered the child. "What for sud I be fleyt at you, sir? I'm Phemy Mair."
Dear little Julia, with her crisp little uniforms, her authority in the classroom, her charming deference to Aunt Sanna! And she loved him "Damn it, the thing either counts or it doesn't count!" Jim muttered, striding down Market Street, past darkened shops and corners where lights showed behind the swinging doors of saloons. Either it was all important or it was not important at all.
It was the thought of her mother that turned the scale. Julia thought of the dirty blankets and the soggy pillow that furnished the invalid's chair, of the treat that a simple bowl of oyster soup seemed to the failing appetite. "And I can do it!" she said to herself. "It will be hard for months and months, and it will be hard now to make Aunt Sanna see that I am right; but I can do it!"
"'Thank yo' kindly Mester Hibblethwaite, she says, 'but dunnot tak' off tha' coat fur me; I'm doin' pretty nicely. It is Mester Hibblethwaite, beant it? "'Aye, lass, I answers, 'it's him. Mought I ax yo're name. "'Aye, to be sure, said she. 'My name's Rosanna 'Sanna Brent th' folk at th' mill alius ca's me. I work at th' loom i' th' next room to thine. I've seed thee often an' often.
Several of these stories will be unfamiliar to the general reader, and I am specially glad to observe in this volume two little-known masterpieces, "The Little Room" by Madelene Yale Wynne, and "Aunt Sanna Terry," by Landon R. Dashiell. Mr.
The doctor came back, talked to Jim and Miss Toland during luncheon about mushroom-raising, went upstairs to send Miss Wheaton down to her lunch, and to watch the patient a little while for himself. Jim went up, too, but was sent down to reassure Mrs. Toland, who had arrived, and with Miss Sanna was holding a vigil in the pretty cretonne-hung drawing-room.
The men have scarcely anything to wear, for all our kit and clothes, everything we possess, was lost at the Sanna Post surprise party. I assure you they are grateful. I read them the names of the subscribers, and they all send their best thanks. Several came up to me and asked that their thanks might be sent to you for your trouble in getting the subscriptions, &c.
All things became clearly visible and the remote snow-hills assumed sharp outlines. "Sanna, day is breaking," said the boy. "Yes, Conrad," answered the girl. "After it grows just a bit brighter we shall go out of the cave and run down from the mountain." It grew brighter, no star was visible any longer, and all things stood out clear in the dawn. "Well, then, let us go," said the boy.
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