United States or Uzbekistan ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Here they come! What do you say?" Westerfelt drew his arm from Bates's grasp, and stared at him with eyes which seemed paralyzed. "Don't mention me to her," he demanded, coldly. "I'll manage my own affairs." "All right," Bates lowered his voice, for the two girls were now quite near; "you may be sure of your case, and I may be making a blamed fool of myself, but she's worth it."
"No," went on the old woman, sternly, "you've brought about a pile o' misery in yore life, John Westerfelt, an' you hain't a-gwine to throw it off like a ol' coat, an' dance an' make merry. You may try that game; but yore day is over; you already bear the mark of it in yore face an' sunk cheeks. You've got another gal on yore string by this time, too." "You are mistaken, Mrs. Dawson."
I thought her an' my wife was bad enough 'fore the trouble, but it's wuss now. The ol' woman has left us." "Left you?" repeated Westerfelt. "What do you mean?" "Why, she says she won't sleep an' eat in the same house with my wife, beca'se she give Sally advice, an' an' one thing or nuther.
Westerfelt asked me just now to go to the camp-ground with him." Mrs. Floyd let a table-cloth which she was folding hang down in front of her for a moment as she looked at Harriet. "Well, you told him you was going with Bascom Bates, didn't you?" "Yes, of course, but " "Well, what of it? I wish you'd just look what a mess the rats have gone and made of this linen.
You've come over here to persecute him; but you sha'n't stay in this house. Get right out; we don't want you!" "Why, Harriet, what on earth do you mean?" exclaimed Mrs. Floyd, suddenly entering the room. Harriet pointed at Mrs. Dawson. "This woman has come over here to worry the life out of Mr. Westerfelt because he didn't marry her daughter.
As he sprang up, the girth snapped, and the saddle and blanket fell under his feet. "God, they are on us!" gasped Washburn. One of the gang raised a shout, and they came on with increased speed. "Up! Up!" cried Washburn, kicking the saddle out of his way. "Quick! What's the matter?" Westerfelt felt a twinge in his old wound as he tried to mount.
"Look how he wabbles; he walks like he was following a plough in new ground. I wouldn't want him to swing my parasol about that way. What do you reckon ails him?" "I don't know," said Westerfelt. Her words irritated him like the persistent buzzing of a mosquito. "I wonder if that fellow is goose enough to go an' fall in love with Harriet." "What if he should?" Westerfelt was interested.
"We've had big trouble over our way," panted Slogan. "Sally fell off'n the foot-log into the creek this mornin' an' was drowned." "Drowned! You don't mean that, Slogan!" cried Westerfelt, in horror; "surely there is some mistake!" "No; she's as dead as a mackerel," Slogan answered. "She wasn't diskivered tell she'd been under water fer a good half-hour.
"Pshaw!" said Westerfelt; "you are off the track." "Well, no odds." Bates began to tug at his glove again. "I've come to you like a man an' made an open breast of it, as the feller said. I intend to ask her point-blank the very first time I get her alone again. The girl hain't give me the least bit of hope, but her mother has a little. I reckon a feller might take it that way." "What did Mrs.
It was the season in which the rugged landscape appeared most brilliant; when the kalmia bloomed, the gentian, the primrose, the yellow daisy, the woodbine, and the golden-disked aster still lingered in sunny spots. It was the season in which the leaves of the maple were as red as blood. John Westerfelt was leaving home, to take up his abode in the adjoining county over the mountain.
Word Of The Day