Genre Fiction. Page - 264

ere was no harm inwhat she had been doing, but it was a great secret--a secret whichshe did not even know herself.This was said with no appearance of cunning or deceit, but with anunsuspicious frankness that bore the impress of truth. She walked onas before, growing more familiar with me as we proceeded andtalking cheerfully by the way, but she said no more about her home,beyond remarking that we were going quite a new road and asking ifit were a short one. While we were thus engaged, I

me fearless ancestor went down to defeat and death on Senlac Hill by Hastings.From safety points in the trees the great apes watched, screaming hatred at Sheeta and advice at Tarzan, for the progenitors of man have, naturally, many human traits. Teeka was frightened. She screamed at the bulls to hasten to Tarzan's assistance; but the bulls were otherwise engaged--principally in giving advice and making faces. Anyway, Tarzan was not a real Mangani, so why should they risk their lives in an

which he was reading slip into his soup."I tell you what, Cayley," he said, "if you don't crush this young brother of yours, I will. This is a matter of life or death, and I must have a clear head to think it out." "I was only saying," cried Jim desperately. But his brother stopped him. "Hold your tongue, Jim," he said. "We've worry enough to go on with just at present. I mean it, my lad. If you've anything important to proclaim, leave it to me to

, the three of you." He looked around the table."We still have an hour or so of travel. Sometimes it gets dull, this Mars-Terra run. Nothing to see, nothing to do but sit and drink in the lounge." He raised his eyes slowly. "Any chance you'd like to spin a story to keep us awake?" Jan and Mara looked at Erickson. "Go on," Jan said. "He knows who we are. Tell him the rest of the story." "You might as well," Mara said. Jan let out a sigh

d of the archbishop on Twelfth day, which is the sixth of January, all the great lords assembled in the churchyard. Each tried to draw forth the sword, and each failed. Then the untitled people came and tried. Everyone failed until at last Arthur stepped forward. He hardly more than touched the sword when it came away in his hand.At this many of the great lords were angry. [Illustration: "He hardly more than touched the sword"] "He is but a boy," they said, "and not of

e pumpkins in Mombi's corn-fields, lying golden red among the rowsof green stalks; and these had been planted and carefully tended that thefour-horned cow might eat of them in the winter time. But one day, after thecorn had all been cut and stacked, and Tip was carrying the pumpkins to thestable, he took a notion to make a "Jack Lantern" and try to give the oldwoman a fright with it.So he selected a fine, big pumpkin -- one with a lustrous, orange-red color-- and began carving it.

med a little startled at seeing me in her bed. The last thing I saw of her was a wavering smile, rather wonderful and alluring. I knew at once that she was Margaret Capel. But she was quickly replaced by two Chinese vases and a conventional design in black and gold. I had been too liberal with that last dose of nepenthe, and the result was the deep sleep or unconsciousness I liked the least of its effects, a blank passing of time.The next morning, as usual after such a debauch, I was heavy and

nd of Tortuga free from the obnoxious strangers, down upon Hispaniola they came, flushed with their easy victory, and determined to root out every Frenchman, until not one single buccaneer remained. For a time they had an easy thing of it, for each French hunter roamed the woods by himself, with no better company than his half-wild dogs, so that when two or three Spaniards would meet such a one, he seldom if ever came out of the woods again, for even his resting place was lost.But the very

ave turned back then, and gotten some one else to ride the route for me, but I knew there were important letters in the mail, and it had to come through. So I kept on, hoping I would get better. But I grew worse, and I had to slow up. I thought I'd never get here! But I did." And he shut his lips grimly.Pony express riders have to be made of stern stuff and they have to keep on their routes in rain or shine, calm or storm; and often when it is torture to sit in the saddle on a galloping

he illumination consisted of candles set in bottles and some electric hand lamps. The centre of the cellar was occupied by two portable operating tables, rarely untenanted during the three hours I spent in this hell.The atmosphere--for there was no ventilation--stank of sweat, blood, and chloroform. By a powerful effort I countered my natural tendency to vomit, and looked around me. The sides of the cellar were lined with figures on stretchers. Some lay still and silent, others writhed and