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Updated: May 21, 2025
The humming bowspring sang in harmony with the zooning arrow. A swift blue streak split the air, high above the river. In a quick trajectory it leaped. It vanished in the wind-swept forest. Almost before it had disappeared, Sivad had snatched another flaming arrow and had planted it farther down stream. One by one, till all were gone, the marksman sowed the seed of conflagration.
"Here!" he exclaimed, scattering the arrows among half a dozen men. "Bind these fireballs fast to the arrowheads!" He dealt out cord. In a moment the task was done. "Sivad!" he called a man by name. "You, the best bowman of all! Here quickly!"
Stern set the flaring torch to the first fireball. It burst into bright flame. "Shoot, Sivad! Shoot!" he commanded. "Shoot high, shoot far. Plant your arrow there in the dry undergrowth where the wind whips the jungle! Shoot and fail not!" The stout bowman drew his arrow to the head, back, back till the flame licked his left hand. "Zing-g-g-g-g!"
I wonder if there are any in Mapelton; let me see, they are all classified in states and cities; yes, there is Mapelton. There are three of them here. "Mrs. F. S. White, C. S., 281 N. Grant St. "Mrs. M. J. Sivad, C. S., 742 Upland Court. "Mrs. L. S. Poor, C. S., 45 Napoleon Ave. "I wonder if all practitioners are women; no, here is Mr.
He summoned Zangamon and Frumuos, together with Sivad and the three aviators. "Well done!" said he; and that was all all, yet enough. Then, while the people cheered again and, crowding round, greeted their kinsfolk, he gave orders for the housing and the care of the travel-wearied newcomers. Through the summer air drifted slow smoke.
After searching for a moment he said, "Yes, here it is, 'Mapelton, Vermont. First church of Christ, Scientist, First Reader, John J. Sivad; Services 10:45 A. M., Sunday School 12 M., Wednesday 7:45 P. M., Number 52 Squirrel Ave., on Island. Reading-room same address, 2 to 4 P. M. Why, that is only five or six blocks from my home; I wish I could go to their service. I may some day.
Even as Sivad fitted the first arrow to the string, and Stern was about to apply the torch, a rattling crash from above caused all to cringe and leap aside. Down, leaping, ricochetting, thundering, hurtled a great boulder, spurning the cliff-face with a tremendous uproar. It struck the parapet like a thirteen-inch shell, smashed out two yards of wall, and vanished in the depths.
Sherman Bradford; here is another man; Oh, yes, there are a good many men, but there are more women than men. I know Mrs. White; her husband used to keep a shoe store, and Mrs. M. J. Sivad is that lovely lady who lives in a beautiful large mansion in Upland Court, the finest street in town; her husband is a retired merchant. And Mrs.
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