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Before he realized what had happened, Scipio found himself in the full glare of the light from the doorway, and James was smiling down upon his yellow head with a curious blending of insolence and curiosity. "I was wondering when you'd get around," he said, without shifting his position. Then, as Scipio made no answer, he bestirred himself.

Not that it was much like that at first; he couldn't get the rhythm of it.... Umpt-y-iddy-umpt-y-iddy. That was better. He was back at Samuel Taylor Coleridge now. Antony would begin to hear him soon. Umpt-y-iddy-umpt-y-iddy; just the aimless tapping of a man who is wondering what book he will take out with him to read on the lawn. Would Antony hear?

Only his brother Reuben, dull, pious, affectionate Reuben, took to him, and showed that patient and wondering admiration of the younger's cleverness, which probably Sandy had reckoned on as his right from his parents also.

After a little they gave me a bit more bread, and told me I had better sleep while they built a break to keep the wind, which had shifted to the west, from my couch. And, while watching them fell trees for the wind-break and vaguely wondering whether I should ever be strong and able to move about like that again, I did go to sleep.

Carson was one of the many who were neither wholly good nor hopelessly bad, one who had drifted with the easy current of the middle course. And he was wondering if that middle course would continue to prove safe. He played solitaire to pass the time. His horse and saddle had been lost in a stud-poker game just prior to his catching the stage to Brill's, where his credit had always been good.

"No, but my chums were," Will replied. "What did they see there?" "A man asleep by the fire!" "Perhaps the man wasn't asleep at all. What else did they see?" It was Will's turn to hesitate now. He was wondering if he ought to mention the fact of the presence in that cavern of the Little Brass God.

What he had felt earlier in the day had been a mere trifling qualm. This was the real thing at last, and no mistake; and it would have to be dealt with speedily, too, or there would be trouble for somebody or something. He looked the gipsy over carefully, wondering vaguely whether it would be easier to fight him or cajole him.

He loathed the mockery of the widow's weeds, but thought he had never seen her look so lovely. "Oh, Guthrie! Oh, what YEARS it seems! Were you wondering what had become of me? But I couldn't somehow I didn't feel that I COULD before " She cast herself into his arms in the most natural way in the world.

Their tremulous, half whimsical look set Winnington wondering what she could be going to say next. "You seem to have beaten me," she said, with a little nod "or you think you have." "I have no thoughts that you mightn't know," was the quiet reply. "You want me to promise not to do it again?" "If you mean to keep it."

He did so, with a heavy heart, wondering how he was ever to be like the other boys, if nobody would take him in hand, and teach him to play, or even let him learn. Remembering what his mother expected of him, he tried to sing, to prevent crying, and began to count the pales round the playground, for something to do.