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Roger hauled the sheet aft and made it fast, then sprang to the tiller, and the little craft began to move away from the mole under the influence of the breeze. "Lucky we found no one aboard," gasped the sailor, whose name was Mathews; "but then I did not expect that there would be anybody about; they never leave a watch on these little craft."
A moment more, and it came into full view but a few yards from us, and we saw that it was a weasel. A second glance showed that it carried something in its mouth which, as it drew near, we saw was a mouse or a mole of some sort.
He exhibited the mole. He was taking no risks. The Count clicked his tongue regretfully. "I am sorry," he said. George didn't offer to console him, "Don't worry," said Sturgis. "He won't escape me. I shall find him." "Do, Mr. Sturgis, do. And quickly. Find swiftly that noble young man." "What?" shouted George.
It's only for an hour or two, till we can get this detective off the yacht. We sail for England to-morrow morning." At last the thing seemed to sink into him. His face brightened. "Why, I really do believe it would work," he said. "Of course it would work. If they want proof, show them your mole. I'll swear George hadn't one."
They are said to be dragged, as beavers are, by their companions, who lay hold of their tail, and pull them along while they lie on their backs, embracing a quantity of soil dug out in forming their runs. The fur of the mole is very short, fine, and close, and is as smooth and soft as Genoa velvet.
But, if the bone be too hard, if the body suspended be that of a Mole, an adult Mouse, or a Sparrow, the wire ligament opposes an insurmountable obstacle to the attempts of the Necrophori, who, for nearly a week, work at the hanging body, partly stripping it of fur or feather and dishevelling it until it forms a lamentable object, and at last abandon it, when desiccation sets in.
The entire outline of her face was Roman, and exhibited in its contour and lineaments even more than Roman sternness and decision; and its effect was still more heightened by a large mole at one corner of her mouth and the velvet robes in which she was appropriately costumed.
'Proceed to Barto, the mole, he said, 'Barto the miner; he is the father of daylight in the city: of the daylight of knowledge, you understand, for which men must dig deep. Proceed to him; if you can find him. But Carlo brought flame into Agostino's eyes. 'The accursed beast! he has pinned the black butterfly to the signorina's dress. Agostino rose on his elbow. He gazed at them.
"I couldn't be a Mole Cricket if my feet were like yours. You see, I use my forefeet for digging. And if they weren't big and strong I never could burrow in this garden, nor anywhere else." Still Chirpy Cricket had his doubts. "I'm inclined to believe," he continued, "that you're related to Grandfather Mole, and not to me. For your feet are very much like his." "Oh, no!" Mr. Mole Cricket cried.
"Well, it's no wonder that he made such a mistake." "Mistake!" Jolly Robin echoed. "Do you mean that Grunty Pig won't have our apple tree down by fall?" "I do," Grandfather Mole answered. "The roots of a big, old apple tree spread out a good rod in every direction. And it would take a hundred Grunty Pigs a whole summer to dig them free." A broad smile spread over Jolly Robin's face.
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