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answered asked better Billy body carried Cilla comes David door eyes face fancy farm Farmer father fear feeling felt fever fields folk Fool Garth Ghyll give glance gone grey half hand hard head heard heart hills Hirst I’ve Intent keep knew lands lass laughed leave light lile listen lived look Marshlands Mathewson matter meet mind Miss moor morning mother moved naught never night once passed Peggy pipe play Priscilla quiet reached remembered Reuben Gaunt road round seemed seen showed side spring standing step stood street sure talk tell there's things thought told touch trouble turned village voice waiting walked watched weather Widow wind wondered ye're Yeoman
Page 371 - ... a strain of generous feeling which uplifts and humanizes. — Harry Thruston Peck, Editor of The Bookman. A few books are published every year that really minister to the tired hearts of this hurried age. They are like little pilgrimages away from the world across the Delectable Mountains of Good. . . This year it is "The Wood-Carver of "Lympus.
Page 371 - A strong tale of human loves and hopes set in a background of the granite mountain-tops of remote New England. — Brooklyn Eagle. Hugh Armstrong, the hero, is one of the pronouncedly high class character delineations of a quarter century. — Boston Courier. It is a book which does one good to read and which is not readily forgotten ; for in it are mingled inextricably the elements of humor and pathos and also a strain of generous feeling which uplifts...
Page 2 - Twould scare me when I woke o' nights and thought of it." "See ye then, Billy"— blowing the bellows gently — "is it work to make yon sparks go, blue and green and red, as fast as ever ye like to drive 'em?" "Te-he, 'tis just a bit o' sport — I hadn't thought of it in that light.
Page 2 - Well, now," answered the other, after a silence, "there's playing — what ye might call playing at a right good game. Could ye think of some likely pastime, David?" "Ay, could I ; blowing bellows is the grandest frolic ever I came across." . . . shouldn't like to be trapped into work. 'Twould scare me when I woke o
Page 193 - Will that be work for Dan Lister's lad, or play ? ' David caught the other's meaning with a quickness that he might well have shown when saying good-bye to Cilla. ' Hard work, Billy — grievous hard work, while you're just playing at making horseshoes, fence-railings, and what not.
Page 22 - Couldn't guess, lad, couldn't guess." " Well, there was a littlish man, all dressed up as if 'twere Sunday; and he came down the road, and I knew he'd been to Good Intent." David glanced sharply up. " How did you know that ? " "Miss Priscilla lives there. All the younger men — and happen a few o' the old uns too — will always be wending Good Intent way when the spring comes in.
Page 164 - twixt ye and me, I'd fare hard. Ye're so slim to look at, and I could lift ye wi' one hand and think naught on 't — but your will is made out of a piece o' hickory wood, I do believe. Like ye the better for 't, I — though ye mustn't let yourself hear me say as much.
Page 275 - Soonest hidden away out of sight, the better folk are pleased these days." during his years of rough intercourse with many people, had found less courage in the face of death than he cared to admit; he himself was as hardened against fear, as he was against exposure and fatigue, and he grew impatient when weaker men showed signs of panic. " He knew what it meant when he stepped into Ghyll,
Page 246 - Tis not just a risk ye're taking; 'tis as near to certain as aught i' this life can be that ye'll catch it, an' die on 't, an' no more o' Gaunt o' Marshlands." " Well, there's not much to boast of as it is. If you put it that way, I'm risking little." Widow Mathewson, though she and Peggy had lived high up above the peopled villages, had a sure instinct for truth or meanness in her fellows. She could detect no sign of cowardice under Gaunt's quiet acceptance of his destiny. There was no bluster,...
Page 242 - Terrible home-bird folk, both on 'em. I liken 'em always i' my mind to a brace o' nesting grouse, so shy an' fierce an' prideful as they are." Gaunt asked for no more news until the coach rounded the curve that brought him within two miles of Garth. "And MissPriscilla?" The driver gave him a shrewd, hasty glance. " Oh, well enough. She never alters — a breath o' rosemary along the dusty road.