Genre - Short Story. You are on the page - 1
d, offering his earphones to Dr. Shalt, who grabbed for them hurriedly. The scientist raised the cups to his ear and waited. The room fell into deeper silence."Yes, yes, it's the voice! Turn up the resonator to full volume! We've got it! The voice is completing the circuit!" Dr. Shalt said tensely. The technician turned another dial as far as it would go. The sound of the static rose to a roar. Then abruptly the static broke, died out and a strange new sound came in. It was Spud!
fe. One sees that dead, vacant look steal sometimes over the rarest, finest of women's faces,--in the very midst, it may be, of their warmest summer's day; and then one can guess at the secret of intolerable solitude that lies hid beneath the delicate laces and brilliant smile. There was no warmth, no brilliancy, no summer for this woman; so the stupor and vacancy had time to gnaw into her face perpetually. She was young, too, though no one guessed it; so the gnawing was the fiercer.She lay
"In this manner we should have enough to last us three days -- maybe more -- with equal shares among the three of us..." Such was his summing of the demonstration, and it passed without comment, as a matter of course in the premises, that he should count as he did -- ignoring that other who sat alone at the stern of the raft, the black Canaque, the fourth man. Perroquet had been out-manoeuvred, but he listened sullenly while for the hundredth time Dubosc recited his easy and definite
me come in."To which the Pig answered, "No, no, by the hair of my chinny chin chin." "Then I'll huff and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in!" said the Wolf. So he huffed, and he puffed, and he blew his house in, and ate up the little Pig. The second Pig met a Man with a bundle of furze, and said, "Please, Man, give me that furze to build a house"; which the Man did, and the Pig built his house. Then along came the Wolf and said, "Little Pig, little
t of the Burning Pestle" (iii. 4): "There is a pretty tale of a witch that had the devil's mark about her, that had a giant to be her son, that was called Lob-lye-by-the-Fire." Grimm mentions a spirit, named the "Good Lubber," to whom the bones of animals used to be offered at Manseld, in Germany. Once more, the phrase of "being in," or "getting into Lob's pound," is easy of explanation, presuming Lob to be a fairy epithet--the term being
een arrested, and took young Ferret home with him to consult about their future conduct.[Illustration: LONGTAIL TEACHING THE YOUNG RABBITS ARITHMETIC.] It would have amused you, could you have heard all the plans discussed by these young lovers for their joint benefit; how the one talked of his darling Miss Weasel, and the other of his dear Miss Pussy; how they agreed that in matters of love every thing was allowable; and how they swore eternal friendship to each other throughout their lives.
CHAPTER II. ROSAMUND TAKES THE LEAD. Before that day had come to an end, Lucy had discovered how true were Phyllis Flower's words. For Rosamund Cunliffe, without making herself in the least disagreeable, without saying one single rude thing, yet managed to take the lead, and that so effectively that even Lucy herself found that she could not help following in her train. For instance, after dinner, when the girls--all of them rather tired, and perhaps some of them a little cross, and no one
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
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