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Updated: May 6, 2025
I told him your hair is prettier than Mary Warner's and he said I was silly to talk about girls' hair." "I don't want him to see it this way," she said, "for he'd say it's a sin to have curly, pretty hair, even if God made it grow that way! He's awful queer! I wouldn't want him for my adopted brother." "Guess he'd keep you hopping," laughed David.
There was nothing modern in Lady Warner's house but the spotless cleanliness; the perfume of last summer's roses and lavender; the polished surface of tables and cabinets, oak chests and oak floors, testifying to the inexorable industry of rustic housemaids. In all other respects the Grange was like a house that had just awakened from a century of sleep.
Dick heard panting breaths, and Warner and Pennington drew up by his side. "Slade's about to escape!" exclaimed Dick. "We must get him!" "I'm running my best," said Warner. "Look out!" Slade suddenly faced about and fired a heavy pistol. Dick had dropped down at Warner's warning cry and the bullet sang over his head.
The Battalion had still more woe in its passage across the desert of Southern California, where wells often had to be dug for water and where rations were at a minimum, until Warner's ranch was reached, where each man was given five pounds of beef a day, constituting almost the sole article of subsistence.
Eleven sounded from the old clock on the mantel. The fire burned low in the grate of Rev. Dr. Warner's study. The air was growing chill in the room. Still, the old pastor, who had looked after the village flock for nearly half a century, heeded neither the time nor the chill, he was so intent upon the sermon he was writing for the morrow.
In many houses, even of knights, an edifice large enough to occupy a quadrangle was composed more of offices than chambers inhabited by the owners; rarely boasting more than three beds, which were bequeathed in wills as articles of great value. The reader must, therefore, not be surprised that Warner's abode contained but one bed, properly so called, and that was now devoted to Nevile.
Warner's nose, is, however, inaccurate in a respect that strikes me as important. In comparison with this, the act of punching was an outward, instantaneous, and even natural gesture. Believe me, yours faithfully, Burton Lestrange. "I have numberless other letters," continued Moon, "all bearing witness to this widespread feeling about my eminent friend; and I therefore think that Dr.
The visits to Hartford which had begun with this affluence continued without actual increase of riches for me, but now I went alone, and in Warner's European and Egyptian absences I formed the habit of going to Clemens.
When I seen the mares were traveling so straight as all that I guessed what was up. Well, if the hoss was leading 'em, where would he take 'em? Straight to water. They was no use trying to run down them long-legged gallopers. I took a swing off to the right and headed for Warner's Tank. Sure enough, when we got there we seen the mares spread out and the chestnut and the grey mare hanging around."
At this point it may be well to give briefly the few further salient facts of Warner's connection with journalism proper. In 1867 the owners of the Press purchased the Courant, the well-known morning paper which had been founded more than a century before, and consolidated the Press with it. Of this journal, Hawley and Warner, now in part proprietors, were the editorial writers.
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