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"Now the girl is rather pleasant looking, and some of the others are not bad at all. But this one is surely a regular little Mickey. I believe a person would be safe in saying that he would not grow up a Presbyterian." Mr. Evans was the worshipful Grand Master of the Loyal Orange Lodge, and well up in the Black, and this remark Mr. Ducker thought he would appreciate.
One of my friends was a member of the Washington and Mount Vernon Ducking Club, which has its camp and fixtures just below the Mount Vernon landing; he was an old ducker. For my part, I had never killed a duck, except with an axe, nor have I yet.
On the lawn several little girls played croquet. There were no boys at the party. Wilford was going to have the boys that is, the Conservative boys the next day. Mrs. Ducker did not believe in co-education. Boys are so rough, except Wilford. He had been so carefully brought up, he was not rough at all. He stood awkwardly by the gate watching the girls play croquet.
She called Wilford, and he came. No sooner had he left his seat than Patsey Watson took his place. Wilford dared not ask for the return of the knife: his mother would know that he had had dealings with Patsey Watson, and his account at the maternal bank was already overdrawn. Mrs. Ducker was more sorrowful than angry.
He would sit half the night over his political editorials, smiling grimly to himself, and when he threw himself back in his chair and laughed like a boy the knife was turned in someone! One day Mr. James Ducker, lately retired farmer, sometimes insurance agent, read in the Winnipeg Telegram that his friend the Honourable Thomas Snider had chaperoned an Elk party to St. Paul. Mr.
Ducker inquired gently, "general breaking down of the system, I suppose?" with his pencil poised in the air. Mr. Williamson knit his shaggy brows. "Well, I wouldn't say too much about mother's death if I were you. Stick to her birth, and the date she joined the church, and her marriages they're sure. But mother's death is a little uncertain, just yet."
Pearl went around to the side lawn where the girls were playing croquet, holding the czar's hand tightly. "What are you playin'?" she asked. They told her. "Can you play it?" Mildred Bates asked. "I guess I can," Pearl said modestly. "But I'm always too busy for games like that!" "Maudie Ducker says you never play," Mildred Bates said with pity in her voice.
A toothless chuckle came from the adjoining room. Mrs. Williamson had been an interested listener to the conversation. "Order my coffin, Ducker, on your way down, but never mind the flowers, they might not keep," she shrilled after him as he beat a hasty retreat. When Mr.
It is a most attractive spot, standing demurely isolated amidst its encircling fringe of fine elms, and jealously guarded by a high wooden palisade, No unauthorised person can penetrate into "Ducker"; in summer-time it is the boys' own domain.
Then I set the ocean back on the stove, and I rub the babies to get their blood circlin' again, and I get them all put to bed on the second shelf and they soon forget they were so near death's door." Mary Ducker had finished the "Java March" and "Mary's Pet Waltz," and had joined the interested group on the lawn and now stood listening in dull wonder.
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