Genre - Fairy Tale. You are on the page - 6
's head from its hard pillow of rock.With swift nervous motions she unfastened his coat and bent her ear to his breast. "'Tis only a faint, maybe shock. In all the world was only Margot, and Margot was lost. Ugh! the hail. See, it is still here--look! water, and--yes, the tea! It was for you---- Ah!" Her words ended with a sigh of satisfaction as a slight motion stirred the features into which she peered so earnestly, and she raised her master's head a bit higher. Then his eyes slowly
ture excited more than half my admiration, and all my love.Walpurgis on the ceiling, gray coming on in the embers, symptoms of death in the candle, a blotch of tallow on the Shakespeare, and the coat not half done. It must have been about then, I think, that the thin-edged sweetness of the Singing Mouse's voice pierced keenly through the air. I was right glad when the little creature came and sat on my knee, and in its affectionate way began to nibble at my finger-tips. It sat erect, its thin
of the recent laughter of his companions at his eagerness."Well, that's hard to say," replied his elder relative. "I'd like to start to-morrow morning. It all depends on the stage of the water. If a flood came down the Athabasca to-morrow you'd see pretty much every breed in that saloon over there stop drinking and hurry to the scows." "What's that got to do with it?" asked John. "Well, when the river goes up the scows can run the Grand Rapids, down below
st tone I sing to them; yet they are never quite satisfied with me, but beat their wings, and stretch out their heads, and cannot be happy until they hear their father."The squirrel, who lives in the hole where the two great branches part, hears what I say, and curls up his tail, while he turns his bright eyes towards the swinging nest which he can never reach." The fanning wind wafts across the road the voice of the old horse- chestnut, who also has a word to say about the
ocean. However, some footsteps were heard, and Abbe Rose, againmistrustful, saw a man go by, a tall and sturdy man, who wore clogs andwas bareheaded, showing his thick and closely-cut white hair. "Is notthat your brother?" asked the old priest.Pierre had not stirred. "Yes, it is my brother Guillaume," he quietlyresponded. "I have found him again since I have been coming occasionallyto the Sacred Heart. He owns a house close by, where he has been livingfor more than
out of their folded sweaters. Soon they were helping Moise with his cooking at the fire and enjoying as usual their evening conversation with that cheerful friend.It did not take Moise, old-timer as he was, very long to get his bannocks and tea ready, and to fry the whitefish and grouse which the boys now brought to him. Uncle Dick looked at his watch after a time. "Forty minutes," said he. "For what?" demanded Jesse. "Well, it took us forty minutes to get off the packs