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Wiggin, Kate Douglas Smith, 1856-1923

"A Summer in a Canyon"

He couldn't have made off with a pistol, could he? He is
up to all such tricks.'
Presently the canyon began to echo with strange sounds, which I have
no doubt sent the owls, birds, and rabbits into fits of terror; for
the boys had whistles and pistols, while Polly had taken a tin pan
and a hammer. She had gone with Phil out behind the thicket of
manzanita bushes, and they both stood motionless, undecided where to
go.
'Oh, Phil, I can't help it; I must cry, I am so frightened. Let me
sit down a second. Yes, I know it's an ant-hill, and I shouldn't
care if it were a hornets' nest--I deserve to be stung. What do you
think I said to Margery this morning? That Dicky was a perfect
little marplot, and spoiled all our fun, and I wished he were in the
bottom of the Red Sea; and then I called him a k-k-k-ill-joy!' and
Polly buried her head in her blue Tam, and cried a good, honest, old-
fashioned cry.
'There, chirk up, poor little soul, and don't you fret over a
careless speech, that meant nothing at all. I've wished him in the
Red Sea more than once, but I'm blessed if I ever do it again. Come,
let's go over yonder, where we caught the young owl; Dicky may have
wanted to try that little game again.'
So they went on, calling, listening, then struggling on again, more
anxious every moment, but not so thoroughly dazed as Bell, who had
rocked her baby-brother in his cradle, and to whom he was the
embodiment of every earthly grace, if not of every heavenly virtue.


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