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Updated: May 4, 2025
The king's daughter waited for him in vain to claim his prize, for he went back to the wood, and got off his horse, and put on his old clothes, and bade the box place some gold in his pockets. After that he went back to the weaver's house, and told him that the gold had been given him by the man who had won the race, and that the weaver might have it for his kindness to him.
His six-shooter stabbed the darkness at the last word. And at his side Weaver's pistol barked viciously. But the deputies had started at the word "One," and though Barkwell, noting the scurrying of their horses, cut the final words sharply, the four figures were vague and shadowy when the first pistol shot smote the air. Not a report floated back to the ears of the two men.
In the tangled jumble occur what might almost be described as weaver's knots. As far as one can judge by the result alone, without having seen the bird at work, this is how the canvas, the support of the cotton wall, is obtained. This warp, this inner framework, is obviously not constructed in its entirety from the start; it goes on gradually, as the bird stuffs the part above it with cotton.
Proceeding on his southern way, the visitor should pause to notice the ear shells, placed upon tables 18, 17, including the beautiful rainbow; the button shells, the rainbow eardrop, and the pyramid upon table 16; the pomegranate from the Cape of Good Hope, New Zealand imperial, and pheasant, and the West Indian golden sun, upon table 15; the weaver's shuttle and pig cowries, including the Chinese variety, highly valued by the Chinese, as an ornament; also upon table 15, more varieties of cowries, including the money cowry of Africa, used there as money, and the orange cowry from the Friendly Islands, where it is worn as an ornament; the five varieties of the Volutes, including the red clouded volute, the Chinese imperial volute, the bishop's mitre, and the papal crown, distributed upon tables 12 and 13.
One of our directors will be in town on Monday next, and can see you between one and two o'clock at Weaver's Hotel. Be good enough to treat this and all further communications as strictly confidential. We are, Sir, yours faithfully, "The Select Agency Corporation. "P.S. Ask at Weaver's Hotel for Mr Medlock. "Liverpool." The welcome contents of this short note fairly staggered him.
We had no desire to be arrested for stealing Weaver's car, and there was not a man in Osage who could be trusted to drive it back. Then the girls needed a lot of things; and though Frosty had intended to take the next train East, I persuaded him to go back and wait for us. Beryl said she was almost sure her father would be nice about it, now there was no good in being anything else.
The male and female women who nightly howl their social and political grievances into the wide ear of the universe are as insensible to the prickings of ridicule as they are unconscious of logic. An intellectual Goliah of Gath might spear them with an epigram like unto a weaver's beam, and the sting thereof would be as but the nipping of a red ant.
There was Jem Rodney, a known poacher, and otherwise disreputable: he had often met Marner in his journeys across the fields, and had said something jestingly about the weaver's money; nay, he had once irritated Marner, by lingering at the fire when he called to light his pipe, instead of going about his business. Jem Rodney was the man there was ease in the thought.
When I came to speak of John Stumpy, alias Ferguson, Kate burst out: "I declare, I've almost forgotten. I've got good news, too. This very morning I went hunting again and picked up the paper that was lost. I was trying to read it when you drove up. Here it is." And my sister handed over Nicholas Weaver's dying statement. "It is hardly of use now," I said.
She left the town, some time ago, to live in the south of England; but the blessings of many who were ready to perish in Wigan will follow her all her days, and her memory will long remain a garden of good thoughts and feelings to those she has left behind. The eyes of the weaver's wife grew moist as she told of the old blacksmith, who could not bear to hear her name mentioned without tears.
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