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Updated: June 24, 2025
"Bless the woman, who cares here what you look like? Take off those fal-lals, an' sit in your petticoat by the fire, here; you ain't wet through on'y your feet; and here's a dry pair o' stockings, if you've none i' the bag. You must be possessed, to come trampin' over High Compton in them gingerbread things." She pointed scornfully at the stranger's boots. Mrs.
"If they're good enough for you, son, they're good enough for me," he said. "Not but what there's some mighty good folks trampin' along on the other side, too." "Yes, and some mighty bad ones," said Tom, thinking of the promoter vestryman of St. Michael's and his Bible-class-teaching son. "We are going right now to investigate the financiering methods of a pair of them. Is Dyckman still on duty?
"Do you think there is a storm coming?" asked Tom. "Looks to me like snow, an plenty of it." "I hope it doesn't come until we reach Bear Pond," said Dick, "I don't want Dan Baxter and his crowd to get ahead of us." "They won't have no better time o' it than we'll have," was the guide's grim comment. "Aint no fun trampin' over the mountains with the snow comin' down heavily; I can tell you that."
Well, I was trampin' once in Montany, when, one afternoon, I and my pard he was prospectin' came to a clearin', and there we saw a sight that made us all feel sick. It was the smokin' ruins of a log cabin, which them devils had set on fire. But that wasn't what I referred to.
You git into the pung now an' take the reins, an' let me do the trampin'." The boy, who was tired out, obeyed gladly. He gathered up the reins, and in two minutes was sound asleep. The man smiled, tucked the blankets snugly around the sleeping form, and trudged on tirelessly for a couple of hours, the horses floundering at his heels. Then the drifts ceased.
"Well, ain't it better than loafin' around yer billets all day, thinkin' an' cursin' an' wishin' ye was home?" spoke up the man who sat the other side, pounding down the tobacco in his pipe with a thick forefinger. "It makes me sick, trampin' round this way in ranks all day with the goddam frawgs starin' at us an'..." "They're laughin' at us, I bet," broke in another voice.
I'm Frank Darvell's lad, what lives at Green Highlands. And Parson knows me and Schoolmaster. And I've niver stolen nowt in my life. Don't ye let 'em lock me up!" "A likely story!" growled Andrew. "Honest lads don't go trampin' round with thieves."
“Then he goes up to the machine and yells out to Ole Iverson, ‘Hello, partner, let me up there. I can cut bands, and I’m tired of trampin’. I won’t go no farther.’ “I tried to make signs to Ole, ’cause I thought that man was crazy and might get the machine stopped up.
This story quickly ran through the little village, of which Mary's house was the last, at the summit of the "coombe," and many of its inhabitants came to inquire after "Mr. David," while he lay tossing and moaning between life and death, most of them seriously commiserating Mary herself for the "sight o' trouble" she had been put to, "all for a trampin' stranger like!"
The wallaby track? That's the name in Australia for trampin' west through the plains of the Never-Never Country lookin' for the luck o' the world; as, bedad, it's meself that knows it, and no other, and not by book or tellin' either, but with the grip of thirst at me throat and a reef in me belt every hour to quiet the gnawin'." And Shon proceeded to light his pipe afresh.
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