United States or Marshall Islands ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
This done, he cut spruce boughs and made a lean-to for the girl. Then, gently lifting her upon a blanket, he folded the sides over her. The other blanket he wrapped about his shoulders and found a comfortable seat against a spruce-tree that upheld the little shack. Ring and Whitie lay near at hand, one asleep, the other watchful. Venters dreaded the night's vigil.
This, you will know, was little Whitie Bungel, who seemed not at all disconcerted at being elsewhere than in his own home. He had been moved about so much without any exertion on his own part that he was quite at home anywhere.
"How can you get well quick when snails are slow?" Pee-wee asked. "That shows that Licorice Stick is crazy. It would be better to make it with lightning-bugs." "Lightning-bugs mean there are ghosts around," said Pepsy, "the lightning-bugs are their eyes. But anyway, just the same, nobody can fix Whitie Bungel, because the doctor from Baxter said so, and he knows because he's got an automobile."
The sudden transition from the darkness for a moment dazzled Jimmie Dale's eyes but the next moment he was searching the faces of the three men. There were few crooks, few denizens of the crime world below the now obsolete but still famous dead line that, as Larry the Bat, he did not know at least by sight. "Moulton, Whitie Burns, and Marty Dean," confided Jimmie Dale softly to himself.
"What were you thinking of?" "Oh, I don't know nothing." "Why did you say you were?" "You didn't tell me about why you didn't go to the hospital last night." "I can see things that other folks can't see," Whitie announced. "You're like Licorice Stick," said Pee-wee. "He's black," Whitie said. "I know he is." "Then how am I like him? I'm white. My name is Whitie."
Yellow dust like the gloom of the cave, but not so changeless, drifted away on the wind; the roar clapped in echo from the cliff, returned, went back, and came again to die in the hollowness. Down on the sunny terrace there was a different atmosphere. Ring and Whitie leaped around Bess. Once more she was smiling, gay, and thoughtless, with the dream-mood in the shadow of her eyes.
By and by a drowsiness overcame him, and Venters began to nod, half asleep, with his back against a spruce. Rousing himself and calling Whitie, he went to the cave. The girl lay barely visible in the dimness. Ring crouched beside her, and the patting of his tail on the stone assured Venters that the dog was awake and faithful to his duty.
Little gray and white rabbits crouched in the grass, now nibbling, now laying long ears flat and watching the dogs. Venters's swift glance took in the brightening valley, and Bess and her pets, and Ring and Whitie. It swept over all to return again and rest upon the girl. She had changed. To the dark trousers and blouse she had added moccasins of her own make, but she no longer resembled a boy.
You could see by his nose and ears he was not trained very much; his fur was often quite tangled because he started quarrels with the older dogs, Whitie and Playwell.
He heard the mocking-birds singing in the trees, and then the twittering of the quail. Ring and Whitie came bounding toward him, and behind them ran Bess, her hands outstretched. "Bern! You're back! You're back!" she cried, in joy that rang of her loneliness. "Yes, I'm back," he said, as she rushed to meet him.
Word Of The Day