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Updated: June 25, 2025
"But this fellow here's not to be despised," said Kalle, pointing to the long boy in the turn-up bed. "Shall we have a look at him?" And, pulling out a straw, he tickled the boy's nose with it. "Get up, my good Anton, and harness the horses to the wheelbarrow! We're going to drive out in state." The boy sat up and began to rub his eyes, to Kalle's great delight.
It was now growing dusk, but the train stopped upon the bridge without accident; and in a few moments the down passengers were unloaded and transferred, those going up were on board, and the long line moved back again, the locomotive in the rear and pushing all the cars backwards like a gigantic wheelbarrow.
It might be a rat or one of John's ferocious terriers, but a voice said quietly, 'It's only me. She stepped forward. 'What are you doing in there? 'Getting cool, Charles said. 'I thought nobody would find me. Won't you come in? It's rather dirty in here, but it's cool, and you can't hear the band. I've been sitting on the handle of the wheelbarrow, so that's clean, anyhow.
Notwithstanding this, he was so despised by the Indians that they did not think it worth their while to stop his progress, having been certainly informed by their spies that his camp was destitute of warriors, and that he had only with him a crew of drunken females, a low-built, old, effeminate, sottish fellow, continually addled, and as drunk as a wheelbarrow, with a pack of young clownish doddipolls, stark naked, always skipping and frisking up and down, with tails and horns like those of young kids.
Then slowly the fire cup righted itself; the flame roared once more against the wall; the swarming figures to either side began once more to feed the monster men and trucks and wheelbarrow, the little railway line, and the iron pillars supporting it, all black against the glare Laura stood breathless her wild nature rapt by what she saw.
While he was dressing he could see old M. Joubert down in the garden, watering the plants and vines, raking the sand fresh and smooth, clipping off dead leaves and withered flowers and throwing them into a wheelbarrow. These people had lost both their sons in the war, he had been told, and now they were taking care of the property for their grandchildren, two daughters of the elder son.
Carl, the listening Bob judged, must be the ticket agent. "I'd like to see that whippersnapper order me out!" blustered Bud. "There's a whole raft of women in there, waiting for the train." Mr. Davis carefully lowered the wheelbarrow and leaned carelessly against the box. "Guess I'll go in and see the girl like to know how she looks," he observed a bit more loudly than was necessary.
Marshall's before breakfast almost before light, she thought, because through her last nap she had heard his hoe clicking, and when she went out, there was the track of his wheelbarrow through the dew, and the liberated peonies, free of grass, stood each in its rich dark circle of manure. A little later the Miller twins saw him coming, and Sophy was at the door awaiting him.
"When is a door not a door?" was a conundrum of my childhood, and I think the answer was: "When it's ajar." But nowadays there is a better réplique: A door is not a door when it's a dug-out. It is then a hole, kept from falling in upon itself by a log of wood or anything handy. This time, the "anything handy" seemed to be part of an old wheelbarrow, and on top were some sandbags.
Boys are never so busy as when they are up to some piece of mischief, and evidently the pair had business of this sort in hand. Peer Troen, fair-haired and sallow-faced, was pushing a wheelbarrow; his companion, Martin Bruvold, a dark youth with freckles, carried a tub. And both talked mysteriously in whispers, casting anxious glances out over the water. Peer Troen was, of course, the ringleader.
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