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Updated: July 17, 2025


They were thirty-five, all told. Keeping step to Luther Blanchard's fifing of the White Cockade, and Francis Barker's drumming, they marched past the men from Concord and formed on their left. "Order arms!" They rested their muskets on the ground and wiped the perspiration from their foreheads. Men from Westford, Lincoln, and Carlisle are arriving. They are four hundred now.

"We can't do it," answered Valentine decisively; "while the fair's on, Westford won't even give fellows leave to go down into town." "Nonsense!" answered Raymond contemptuously. "You leave it to me, and I'll manage it all right. Now I must cut back to the office. Ta! ta!"

You must know who he is; answer my question immediately." "He told us his name was Hanks," said Jack; "but we don't know him. He came up and spoke to us of his own accord." "And, pray, what did he want to speak to you about?" "I don't know, sir," answered Valentine "that is he wanted to beg some money." "I don't understand your answer, Fenleigh," replied Mr. Westford.

Solicitous sympathy was unavailing, and the person responsible for her regaining her grip on life was, curiously enough, a summer boarder whom old Mrs. Spaulding had taken into her family in order to make both ends meet. Westford has been saved from rusting out by the advent in the nick of time of the fashionable summer boarder, and Mrs.

"I thought perhaps you might say a word for him too, sir," pleaded the boy. "He's been behaving a lot better lately than he used to do." "There certainly was some room for improvement," returned the master, laughing. "Well, if you like to come to me again just before school, I'll go with you and speak to Mr. Westford." The long summer afternoon dragged slowly away.

Of one thing she was certain, that she did not wish to rust out in Westford. While her father lived, of course her nominal home would be there, but she felt that she could not be happy with nothing but household employment in a small town out of touch with the movement and breadth of modern life. The substance of this information was confided to me by Morgan before we went to bed that night.

It's held once a year in a big field on the other side of the town; there are shows, and round-abouts, and all that sort of thing." "Thanks," answered Valentine, "but I'm afraid we can't go." "Why not?" "Because the rule of the school is that no boys are allowed to go to Melchester Fair. Old Westford is awfully strict about it.

"If I'd thought that my staying away would have made it any the worse for him, I'd have gone to the fair myself," said Valentine desperately. Mr. Ward smiled. "Well, what do you want me to do?" he asked. "I don't see that I can be of much service to you in the matter. The only thing I can advise you to do is to go to Mr. Westford, and tell him exactly what you have told me."

"I say, just be off," cried Jack sharply, "here's old Westford coming." The man fell back, and a moment later the two boys raised their caps to the headmaster. Mr. Westford acknowledged their salutation with a cold stare, which clearly showed that he had seen their late companion, and was wondering what business two of his pupils had to be talking with such a vagabond.

"I ought to, for she was born and bred in Westford. Edna Knight was her name the daughter of Justin Knight, the local attorney, half-lawyer and half-dreamer. His parents were followers of Emerson, and there have been plain living and high thinking in that family for three generations.

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