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“Oh, eat and drink and have fun. If you want to swing in the big swing, for instance, you can do that.” From the wharf below came the sound of laughter. How those ladies were laughing and shouting! He could not see them because of the trees, but the talk and laughter was incessant. "Grandmother, what large eyes you have!".

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“He’s a bad egg,” was the comment of Tim Flannigan, the engineer of the dinky that pulled the rock cars from the quarry to the crusher. “He’s all the time startin’ somethin’ down to the Townsite. He’s got a game cock that nobody kin lick, and the marshal has had him up several times for gambling. Tried to run him out of camp a bit back but such a gang of Greasers threatened to leave with him that Boss Adams, who was here before Boss Whitney came, told the marshal to keep a close eye on him and let it go at that.” Up the tree went both the boys. They picked six apples, but found it impossible to reach any more. All the others hung upon thin old branches that cracked if you but touched them, and would by no means bear a boy’s weight. The boys tried and tried to get the apples, but the tempting things hung exasperatingly out of reach. By her wise godmother—her truest glory. “Wonder how much longer it’ll be,” whispered Bob, forcing a little laugh. “Seems like we’ve gone miles!”.