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Updated: July 26, 2025
Bolter has sent that beautiful black horse that he bought in England." "Oh, indeed? I heard of that mare. To Cliffdale? I believe there is a stockfarm there. It is some distance from my friend Canary's camp, however." "Do you suppose that girl got there?" whispered Bobby to Betty. "Even if she did, how disappointed she must be," Betty rejoined. "I am awfully sorry for Ida Bellethorne."
I'm afraid you are engaged for it, aren't you?" Lillian gazed fixedly at the white cupola on a stockfarm building. Her heart was somewhere deep in hill-grass. She was the most luckless girl in the whole college! The opportunity of her Sophomore year had come too late. It was bitter enough for tears. "I had promised it to Mr. Perkins," she said, irresolutely. "I was afraid so.
Ida brought a good-sized suitcase out of the hut with her. She had evidently tried to walk from Cliffdale to the stockfarm, carrying that weight. The girls were buzzing over the appearance of the stranger and the boys stared. "Oh, Betty!" whispered Bobby Littell, "is she Ida Bellethorne?" "One of them," rejoined Betty promptly. "Then do you suppose she has your locket?" ventured Bobby.
"I was trying to find the Candace Farm," choked Ida Bellethorne. "I want to know!" said Jaroth. "That's the stockfarm where they pasture so many sportin' hosses. Candace, he makes a good thing out of it. But it's eight miles from here and not in the direction we're going, Mr. Gordon." "We will take her along to Mountain Camp," said Uncle Dick. "One more will not scare Mrs. Canary, I am sure."
Runs a fine stockfarm. Cried like a baby when he parted with his cow. Wouldn't have done it, but he had to have the money to buy provisions for his family." "Let me see," said the officer, looking at him. "Seems to me I ought to know you. Where do you belong?" "Co. Q, 200th Injianny Volunteers." "I thought so. I do know you. You are Shorty.
She could remember perfectly the days when the ranch spread undisturbed from her paddock in the stockfarm yard to the deep shadows of the Arboretum. Then she was only a colt, to be sure; but the world beyond the paddock fence interested her. The grooms in the yard were not more sorry than she herself that the last colt from a famous sire should be a filly with an imperfect ankle-joint.
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