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Updated: September 20, 2025
Jefferson, as he strode up the stairs with the wood. She opened the door of the guest-room and lifted the cover of the woodbox. "Haven't?" he questioned, dumping the wood into the box, and then stooping to rearrange it. "Would you object to telling me what you consider me, then?"
"I noticed that woodbox in the kitchen when I fust come in," she said. "And 'twa'n't quite empty neither, though that's more or less of a miracle. Matches? Oh, yes, indeed! I never travel without 'em. I've been so used to lookin' out for myself and other folks that I'm a reg'lar man in some ways. There! now let's see if the draft is rusted up as much as the stove."
The shouts were less shrill and the yells less prolonged when Bobby was near the house. No toads nor cats graced the parlor floor, and no bugs nor snakes tortured Miss Wetherby's nerves when Bobby's bed was made each day. The kitchen woodbox threatened to overflow so high were its contents piled and Miss Wetherby was put to her wits' end to satisfy Bobby's urgent clamorings for errands to run.
He filled the bucket with sticks, and then went paddling to and from the water-barrel, leaving a wet and muddy trail behind him, and gleefully deposited dipperfuls of water into the woodbox. He was finally discovered by his brother, promptly cuffed, and set to reverse the order of his going.
Keep your strength for your young wife you might overstrain yourself on an old witch like me. And where'd she be then, eh?" Anders Olsen had come with the intention of throwing the old witch into the trap and taking her home with him by fair means or foul so that she could undo her magic on the spot. And there he sat on the woodbox, his cap between his hands, a pitiful sight.
Listen to this: Q. "You recognize this revolver as the one you found?" A. "Yes." Q. "You are familiar with it?" A. "Yes. It is Mr. Clark's." Q. "You made the second search because you had not examined the woodbox earlier?" A. "No. I had examined the woodbox. I had a theory that " Q. "The Jury cannot listen to any theories. This is an inquiry into facts."
Round and round the poet climbs, up these bare creaking flights to the very top. There is a stove to be lighted unless the woodbox fails a sloping ceiling and a window huddled to the floor. The poet's fingers may be numb. Although the inkpot be full, his stomach may be empty. And yet from this window, lately, a poem was cast upward to the moon. And youth and truth still rhyme in these upper rooms.
Presently Adelia composed herself and removed from the woodbox to a chair, but there was still a suspicious twitching about the corners of her mouth. "I suppose," said Young Thomas, determined to have it over with before the ice could form again, "I suppose, Adelia, you've heard the story that's been going about you and me of late?" Adelia nodded.
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