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But there was no Gretna on the Pembina trail in those days and the Little Statue's cheeks were suddenly tinged deep red, while I completely lost my tongue. "Not a word for y'rself?" continued the priest, giving me full benefit of the mischievous spirit working in him.
"Come along here 'z quick 'z y' ken," Abel answered, "'n' haälp me fix this fellah. Y' been hurt, y'rself, 'n' the' 's murder come pooty nigh happenin'." Mr. Bernard heard the answer, but presently stared about and asked again, "Who's hurt? What's happened?" "Y' 'r' hurt, y'rself, I tell ye," said Abel; "'n' the''s been a murder, pooty nigh." Mr.
But not at what Cis had been saying; it was evident that some new and pleasant thought had occurred to him. He nodded his head over it. "I thought maybe it was that dude again," he remarked cheerfully. "But it was One-Eye fitted y' out! Hm! And when I'm off at work, instead o' doin' what y' ought t', y' fix y'rself up, don't y'? soldier boy stuff!" "I I do my work in these," pleaded Johnnie.
Barber shook her, and stepped back. "After t'-day," he told her, "y'll work right here at home!" "Home! Home!" She laughed wildly. "Do you call this a home?" "I'll see that y' behave y'rself!" he vowed. "You'd better see that you behave yourself!" she retorted. "Because Johnnie doesn't belong to you you haven't any rights over him! And he's gone once, and he'll go again after I go!
The other rider gave no sign of recognition. A touch of the spur to my horse and I was abreast of them, Frances Sutherland curveting her cayuse from the trail to give me middle place. "Arrah, me hearty, here ye are at last! Och, but ye're a skulkin' wight," called the priest as I saluted both. "What d'y' say for y'rself, ye belated rascal, comin' so tardy when ye're headed for Gretna Green Och!
Thinking of these men, and thinking their failure due to themselves alone, Hartley could not endure the idea of his friend adding one more to the list of failures. He sprang up at last. "Say, Bert, you might just as well hang y'rself, and done with it! Why, it's suicide! I can't allow it. I started in at college bravely, and failed because I'd let it go too long.
"Come along here 'z quick 'z y' ken," Abel answered, "'n' haalp me fix this fellah. Y' been hurt, y'rself, 'n' the' 's murder come pooty nigh happenin'." Mr. Bernard heard the answer, but presently stared about and asked again, "Who's hurt? What's happened?" "Y' 'r' hurt, y'rself, I tell ye," said Abel; "'n' the' 's been a murder, pooty nigh." Mr.
I don't suppose you knew y'rself just where it was all leading to. Well, now, don't worry, and don't let it interfere with your plans. She'll outgrow it. Girls often go through two or three such attacks. Just go on with your studies, and when you come back, if you find her unmarried, why, then decide what to do."
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