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Updated: August 22, 2024
To his slower mentality she was like a humming-bird darting about from flower to flower, yet ever evading him. "M-maybe yer think I ain't in e-e-earnest?" he persisted, doggedly. "M-maybe yer imagine I d-did n't m-m-mean what I s-said when I asked yer ter m-marry me?"
An' she seen somethin' b-b-b-lack scooting cross lots, l-l-li-lic-lick ety c-c-c-ut!" "Monty, if I were you, I wouldn't try to say 'lickety-cut, till " again reproved the girl-teacher, still forgetful of secrecy. And again Mr. Jones ignored her, asking the boy: "Where was Bob, son of Mrs. Turner, about that time?" "F-f-fudge! I don't know. Somewhere's r-r-round, m-maybe. But it wasn't him.
"Brace up, Dot, it can't do a bit of good to cry you know. Now you know more about this sort of thing than I do, what do people do when they're lost in the woods?" "Hol holler," said Dotty, weakly, between her sobs, "holler like fury, and m-maybe somebody hears them and maybe they d-don't."
But I'll fight them all off. I won't let them take you, Ruth." "I'm sure you won't, Carl." "And oh you won't let Phil Dunleavy keep you from running away, not for a while yet?" "M-maybe not." The sky had cleared. She tilted up her chin and adored the stars stars like the hard, cold, fighting sparks that fly from a trolley-wire.
M-maybe now they're hoping to get the material and the power to build another transmitter. Since everything they use is so simple, the boys might have been taught how. They were taught to repair the one they had! They did repair it! Maybe they can make one, and hope we'll help them! They'd have been especially trained...." "Nice, isn't it?" asked Soames.
"Mercedes," he managed to say finally, "Ye're a-g-goin' ter ride away, an' m-maybe thar'll be o-one hell o' a fracas up yere afore the rest o' us g-g-git out o' this scrape. I d-don't reckon as it'll b-be me as will git h-hurt, but somehow I 'd f-feel a heap better if you 'd j-jest say them words what I a-asked yer to afore yer g-go, little g-girl; I would that."
You see, you DO, lots of times; you get so used to it looking for something to be glad about, you know. And most generally there is something about everything that you can be glad about, if you keep hunting long enough to find it." "Well, m-maybe," granted Nancy, with open doubt. At half-past eight Pollyanna went up to bed. The screens had not yet come, and the close little room was like an oven.
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