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Bacheller, Irving, 1859-1950

"Darrel of the Blessed Isles"

Toward night I crawled out o' the
window an' clim' down the lightnin' rod. An' she screamed for help
an' run t' the neighbours. Scairt me half t' death. Heavens! I
didn't know what I'd done!"
"Did you come down fast?" Trove inquired.
"Purty middlin' fast."
"Well, a man never ought to travel on a lightning rod."
Tunk sat in sober silence a moment, as if he thought it no proper
time for levity.
"I made up my mind," said he, with an injured look, "it wa'n't
goin' t' do my character no good t' live there with them ol' maids."
There was a bitter contempt in his voice when he said "ol' maids."
"I'd kind o' like t' draw the ribbons over that mare o' yourn,
mister," said Tunk, presently.
"Do you think you could manage her?"
"What!" said Tunk, in a voice of both query and exclamation. "Huh!
Don't I look as if I'd been used t' hosses. There ain't a bone in
my body that ain't been kicked--some on 'em two or three times.
Don't ye notice how I walk? Heavens, man! I hed my ex sprung
'fore I was fifteen!"
Tunk referred often and proudly to this early springing of his
"ex," by which he meant probably that horse violence had bent him
askew.
"Well, you shall have a chance to drive her," said Trove, spreading
his blanket.


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