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Bacheller, Irving, 1859-1950

"Darrel of the Blessed Isles"


Vaughn had begun building a fire. She observed the troubled look
in his face, but said nothing of it then. Trove greeted her and
went to the stable to feed his mare. As he neared the door he
heard a loud "Whoa." He entered softly, and the big barn, that
joined the stable, began to ring with noise. He heard Tunk
shouting "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" at the top of his voice. Peering
through, he could see the able horseman leaning back upon a pair of
reins tied to a beam in front of him. His cry and attitude were
like those of a jockey driving a hard race. He saw Trove, and
began to slow up.
"You are a brave man--there's no doubt of it," said the teacher.
"What makes ye think so?" Tunk inquired soberly, but with a glowing
eye.
"If you were not brave, you'd scare yourself to death, yelling that
way."
"It isn't possible, or Tunk would have perished long ago," said the
widow, who had come to feed her chickens.
"It's enough to raise the neighbours," Trove added.
"There ain't any near neighbours but them over 'n the
buryin'-ground, and they must be a little uneasy," said the widow.
"Used t' drive so much in races," said Tunk, "got t' be kind of a
habit with me--seems so.


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