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Updated: May 15, 2025
They were given several times, and then carefully spelled at the request of the large-whiskered man, who desired that no mistake might be made. "You may call me Ned Trimble, and that ugly-looking fellow 'tending to the fire is George Wakeman, and that horrid-looking chap scrubbing off his dirty face, is Alfred Wilkins.
It would not do for me to be here while these fellows are on their guard. I can safely leave the matter to Miss Trimble. I wish you good afternoon." After he had gone, Mrs. Pett vainly endeavoured to interest herself again in her book, but in competition with the sensations of life, fiction, even though she had written it herself, had lost its power and grip.
Crocker reluctantly drew the cambric from his face. "Goosh!" exclaimed Miss Trimble in strong distaste. "Say, 've you got some kind of a plague, or wh't is it? Y'look like a coloured comic supplement!" She confronted the shrinking Mr. Crocker and ran a bony finger over his cheek. "Make-up!" she said, eyeing the stains disgustedly. "Grease paint! Goosh!" "Skinner!" cried Mrs. Pett.
And at that sound the bearded man with the spectacles who had formed part of Miss Trimble's procession uttered a wailing cry. "Gee! He's beat it in my bubble! And it was a hired one!" The words seemed to relieve the tension in the air. One by one the company became masters of themselves once more. Miss Trimble, that masterly woman, was the first to recover.
But Dick knew that it was only the natural curiosity of the hills and he renewed his journey without apprehension. At the appointed time he saw the stout log cabin of Ben Trimble by the roadside with the warm smoke rising from the chimney, but true to his word he gave Ben and his shotgun no trouble, and continued straight ahead over the frozen road until he came to the banks of Hungry Creek.
Furthermore, of those two hundred and ninety-two men, no less than one hundred and sixty-five had been aboard the Colossus, and had joined after being paid off from that craft; while, on the quarter-deck, the skipper, Mr Galway the second lieutenant, Mr Trimble the master, Maxwell the master's-mate, Gascoigne a midshipman, Mr Purvis the gunner, and myself had all been shipmates together in the same craft.
"A backwoodsman named Trimble went to Rutledge with credentials from North Carolina, and has gone off to Cherokee Ford to join McCall." "Bless my soul!" exclaimed the first gentleman. He came up and laid his hand on my shoulder, and said: "Where is Mr. Temple?" "That I don't know, sir." "When did he go away?" I did not answer at once. "That I can't tell you, sir." "Was there any one with him?"
Now we're just goin' to give you what we've got, an' make out with a good welcome. We make more tea 'n we want in the mornin', an' then let the fire go down, since 't has been so mild. An' here's our sprigged chiny cups that R'becca knows by sight, if Mis' Trimble don't. We kep' out four of 'em, an' put the even half dozen with the rest of the auction stuff.
But I am very much obliged to you for mentioning it, Mr Trimble, for `forewarned is forearmed, and in circumstances like the present it is our bounden duty to take every possible precaution for the safety of the ship.
About eight o'clock Ewell's batteries again came into action, and Trimble moved round to take the enemy in flank. But Jackson, meanwhile, was bringing matters to a crisis on the left. The Federals still held fast in front; but the Louisiana, Taliaferro's, and Scott's brigades, retained hitherto with Elzey in reserve, were now ordered to turn the enemy's flank.
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