Unmarked6698
- Flag inappropriate
- Show review history
Some time before this, after Red Robe had made his long fasting, and his dream had come to him and he had returned to his grandmother's lodge, he had told his true friend something of what had been said to him by his dream. It is told also that the creator made people and animals at another place, and in another way. At the Porcupine Mountains he made other earthen images of people, and blew breath on the images, and they became people. They were men and women. After a time they asked him, "What are we to eat?" Then he took more earth and made many images in the form of buffalo, and when he had blown on them they stood up, and he made signs to them and they started to run. He said to the people, "There is your food." "Why make a fool of me?" the poor man asked. "My heart is sad. I am crying." He covered his head with his robe and wept..
453 people found this
review helpful
kez_ h (Kez_h)
- Flag inappropriate
- Show review history
"Ah! were you really there!" says Mona, growing at once bright and excited at the bare mention of her native land. At such moments she falls again unconsciously into the "thens," and "sures," and "ohs!" and "ahs!" of her Ireland.I tried logging in using my phone number and I
was supposed to get a verification code text,but didn't
get it. I clicked resend a couple time, tried the "call
me instead" option twice but didn't get a call
either. the trouble shooting had no info on if the call
me instead fails.There was
"They've done it at last," says Mr. Darling, in a low, compressed voice. "It is an accomplished fact. I heard 'em myself!"
658 people found this
review helpful
Conrad
"I am glad you are all pleased," says Lady Rodney, in a peculiar tone; and then the gong sounds, and they all rise, as Geoffrey and Mona once more make their appearance. Sir Nicholas gives his arm to Mona, and so begins her first evening at the Towers. "Oh, I dare say! I am not sure," says Lady Rodney, pettishly, who is rather annoyed at the idea of his going to Ireland, having other plans in view for him. It is ten days later,—ten dreary, interminable days, that have struggled into light, and sunk back again into darkness, leaving no trace worthy of remembrance in their train. "Swift as swallows' wings" they have flown, scarce breaking the air in their flight, so silently, so evenly they have departed, as days will, when dull monotony marks them for its own. "Well, I can't, you know," with a sigh. "But no matter: you will enjoy the scenery even more by yourself.".
298 people found this
review helpful