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Updated: May 3, 2025
Woodhull's motion to throw our vote and our train for Captain Wingate and the big train," said he. "We'll ratify his captaincy, won't we?" The nods of his associates now showed assent, and Wingate needed no more confirmation. "In general, too, I would ratify Captain Wingate's scheme. But might I make a few suggestions?" "Surely go on." Wingate half rose.
"We all spitted the seeds out, and we was so hungry, too!" Eliza took courage to sob from Miss Wingate's skirt. Bud managed to echo her statement, while Susie and the two little boys gave confirmation from their wide-open, terror-stricken eyes. "Well, now, maybe they did, Mis' Pike," said Mother, coming near to argue the question.
"They had quite a time on the Square last night," remarked Captain Nutter, looking up from the Rivermouth Barnacle, which was always placed beside his coffee-cup at breakfast. I felt that my hair was preparing to stand on end. "Quite a time," continued my grandfather. "Some boys broke into Ezra Wingate's barn and carried off the old stagecoach. The young rascals!
A peculiar bond of sympathy had arisen between the girl and the gentle old invalid, both fighting pain and anxiety. Mrs. Bostick would lie for hours drinking in tales of Miss Wingate's travels in the world, which she had timidly but eagerly asked for from the beginning of their friendship.
His name shall go down to posterity on the list of cowards who, on the 10th of November, 1898, brought into disrepute the fair name of one of the best little cities on the American continent. Judas Iscariot. When the Executive Committee, in response to Mr. Wingate's call, met in his office the following evening, the Governor's letter was read to them, and Molly Pierrepont's story repeated.
Grace introduced the members of her party, telling Long that they were riding for their health and amusement. Emma added that they were on their way in search of a fortune on Lieutenant Wingate's tract of mountain land, and would have said more had not Grace given her a warning look. "Are you the voice from the wilderness?" demanded Hippy scowlingly. The stranger threw back his head and laughed.
And thus deserted, the flush rose up under Miss Wingate's eyes and a dimple teased at the corner of her red lips, but she busied herself with removing the plate from under Martin Luther's yellow mop and making a pillow of her own bare arm, against which he nestled his chubby little cheek with a sigh of content, as he drifted off into his usual after-dinner nap.
"I love to have a man who really amounts to something tell me about his life and work." "Mr. Peter Phipps, for instance?" he suggested. "Didn't I see you lunching here with him the other day?" She looked across the table, towards where Phipps was sitting hand in hand with a young lady in blue, and apparently being very entertaining. Miss Flossie caught a glimpse of Wingate's expression.
It was Nora Wingate's voice. Grace had not known she was awake. "Yes. Wake the girls, but be quiet about it. The woods are full of them." "Of whom?" demanded Grace, getting quickly to her feet and hurrying to Hippy. "I don't know, but I saw several men about two hundred yards from here. They are creeping up on the camp. Hurry! Get the girls into the cave.
The pseudo-servant lingered, his eyes fixed upon Wingate's face. He, too, was an underling of Grant's, a keen, intelligent-looking man, with broad shoulders and a powerful face. Wingate nodded understandingly. "I will ring if I need you, John," he said quietly. The man left the room. Wingate sat upon the arm of an easy-chair.
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