Genre - Short Story. You are on the page - 3
hould so much like to put Chirp into Dicky's cage.""I have been thinking of the very same thing," said Charles. "Let us run and ask mamma if we may do it." Away they ran and asked. "Why," said their mamma, "it certainly will have rather a strange appearance. The two birds do not seem suitable companions. It is an odd fancy, children; but you may do it if you like." No sooner said than done. Off ran Fanny and Charles--took the little Foundling out of
to do, but it took more guts that he had to jump off a bridge, so he went on the Road instead.After he got over his shakes--and he sure had 'em bad--he decided that, if he never took another drink, it'd be the best thing for him. So he didn't. He had a kind of dignity, though, and he could really talk, so he and I teamed up during the wheat harvest in South Dakota. We made all the stops and, when we hit the peaches in California we picked up Sacks and Dirty Pete. Sacks got his monicker because
I said, "Fine, go ahead. About your resignations--"Mel said something indistinguishable--I'd caught him on a bite of steak. Hazel, belligerent, demanded: "Are you asking us to resign?" Apparently I wasn't. So they stuck, and another crisis was met. Unfortunately, by then, I'd forgotten the shock and warning I got from the cat. * * * * * Things moved swiftly, more easily. The GG took over, becoming, in effect, my staff. They'd become more: five different extensions of me,
ou know. The man had a kind face and he handled Pine Tree very carefully. He sawed and smoothed Pine Tree many days, and as he worked he whistled and sang, for he was happy. Sometimes he would whistle some of the songs that Pine Tree had heard when he lived in the forest, and then sometimes those he had heard on the ocean, and again he would whistle the songs that Pine Tree had heard in the home of the children.At last the man's work was finished. Pine Tree had been made into a wonderful
r, or folded in a blue handkerchief, and laid them, with fingers more or less worn and stubby from hard service, before the consul for his signature. Once, in the case of a very young Madchen, that signature was blotted by the sweep of a flaxen braid upon it as the child turned to go; but generally there was a grave, serious business instinct and sense of responsibility in these girls of ordinary peasant origin which, equally with their sisters of France, were unknown to the English or American
try, and one of them had somehow come into the possession of John Thacher's grandfather when grafted fruit was a thing to be treasured and jealously guarded. It had been told that when the elder Thacher had given away cuttings he had always stolen to the orchards in the night afterward and ruined them. However, when the family had grown more generous in later years it had seemed to be without avail, for, on their neighbors' trees or their own, the English apples had proved worthless. Whether it