Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
The weight of ridicule in his comrades' faces was too much for Toby, and he leapt from the foot of the bunk on which he was sitting. He projected himself with more force than cunning in the direction of the grinning loafer, bent on bodily hurt to his victim. But his leap fell short by reason of Sunny's agility.
They were black with dirt, and he held them up before Sunny's wondering eyes and smiled pathetically. "Ridic'lous small," he said, with an odd twist of his pale lips. "Pore little gal." Then his scanty eyebrows drew together perplexedly, and that curious expression of helplessness that was his crept into his eyes. "Them frills an' bits git me some," he said in a puzzled way.
At that moment Bill turned from his contemplation of the house beyond the dumps and fixed his fierce eyes on Sunny's grinning face. "Here, you miser'ble hoboe," he cried, "get right up out of that, and hump across to Zip's shack. You're doin' enough gassin' fer a female tattin' bee. Your hot air makes me want to sweat. Now, them kiddies'll need supper.
But Bill cut him short in his coldest manner. "Do you?" he observed icily. "Wal, I'd say you best think ag'in. An' when you done thinkin' jest start right over ag'in. An' mebbe some day you'll get wise if you don't get took meanwhiles." Bill flung himself into the chair and crossed his long legs. "Sunny's on the right lay," he went on.
In case anything happens to the team, Sunny has enough push in him this morning to pull the carriage there and back." Peter and Paul trotted briskly, and Sunny's tongue kept pace with their heels. His shrill little voice was the first thing Mr.
Sunny's eyes twinkled. "Don't guess we'll need to give you hard work. You best be boss o' the workin' staff." "But ther' ain't no workin' staff," protested Toby. "Jest so. That's why you'll be boss of it." Then Sunny turned to Sandy. "We'll need your experience as a married man, tho'," he said slyly. "So you best be head o' the advisory board.
His thoughts were his own at all times. As he drew near he heard Sunny's voice raised in song, and he listened intently, wondering the while if the loafer had any idea of its quality. It was harsh, nasal and possessed as much tune as a freshly sharpened "buzz-saw." But his words were distinct. Far too distinct Bill thought with some irritation. "A farmer ast the other day if we wanted work.
But no pie could hold Sunny's attention very long his heart was set on cake. Standing on his tiptoes, he managed to lift the tin lid of the box when a voice at the door startled him. "My land of Goshen!" ejaculated Araminta.
"Wal, not rightly sick, but ailin'." Sunny's smile broadened till a mouthful of fairly decent teeth showed through the fringe of his ragged mustache. "Ailin'?" "Yep. Guess I bin overdoin' it." "It don't do, working too hard in the heat," said Scipio absently. "Sure," replied Sunny. "It's been a hard job avoidin' it. Ther's allus folk ready to set me workin'. That's just the way o' things.
Its eyes opened, and it lifted its head alertly. Then, with a quick wriggle, he sat up on his hind quarters, and, throwing his lean, half-grown muzzle in the air, set up such a howl of dismay that Sunny's melody became entirely lost in a jangle of discords. He caught up his empty sack and flung it at the wailing pup's head.
Word Of The Day