Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 23, 2025
Adelle, listening to the uproar outside, wondered whether the tar-paper shack on the hillside, which must be directly in the path of the gale, had been able to withstand it. She thought of the mason sitting in his flimsy beaten room listening to the mouthings of the tempest, alone. He was not complaining, she felt.
Pedro's brother knew a man who had trapped Bears, and the sheep-herder remembered that it is necessary to have the door quite light-tight rather than very strong, so they battened all with tar-paper outside. But Gringo was learning "pen-traps." He did not break the door that he did not see through, but he put one paw under and heaved it up when he had finished the bait.
Presently she took up her furs and walked humming about the office as she adjusted them. "I'd like to stay all day, but must be going," she said. "Imo and I were wondering, by the way, if you could send us a man with some tar-paper to line our cabins." "Of course. I'll send him after dinner. And he can chop you some wood and bring your water."
She examined the tar-paper structure more carefully, noticing that the mason had set out some vegetables beside the door and that a little vine was climbing up the paper façade of the temporary home. She knew that the mason was still at his work below, and so she ventured to peek into the shack. Everything within the one small room was clean and orderly.
At first Colonel Howell's camp appeared to be deserted, but as the boats made in toward the shore and the crew began shouting, two men appeared from the cabin. These were Ewen and Miller Chandler was not in sight. The new log cabin with its flat tar-paper roof, glistening with its many tin washers, and with a substantial looking chimney built against one end, had a satisfactory look.
Seen from the road the long roof was variously colored from various additions; there were regions of rusty tar-paper, of tin with blistered remnants of dull red paint, of dark, irregular shingling. It was a dwelling weather-beaten and worn, the latest addition already discolored by the elements, blended with the nondescript whole.
But I'm thinking it must be rather fun to fold things carefully, and put them in cedar chests, and sprinkle moth-balls over them, and tuck them in with tar-paper." "And you think wrong," said Martha. "It is no fun at all." "Oh!" said the Poor Boy. "You're used to it. You've always done it. But I haven't." "No more," said Martha, "have you ever knit a comforter."
Word Of The Day
Others Looking