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“Good dog! I understand you, Bouncer, and I’m not lonesome any more.” “The darned old robber!” Billy started up and walked restlessly toward the door. “Surely Billy has earned it, Mrs. Bennett,” Mr. Smith urged..
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Conrad
Geewhillikins did not wait for four feet to be on the floor to spring at the plate. He put his paws on one pile of meat, and began to gobble the other, growling savagely. The house cats drew back, curled their tails around their forefeet, and looked at the gorger in calm disdain. “That big sand pile the kids made last week for a fort can be the Sierras, and we’ll tunnel, and have a loop, and—” The Bennetts’ was one of the oldest places in town, and the most beautiful. It was near the heart of the growing village ambitiously calling itself a city. Level lawns protected by high hedges and shaded by many trees, spread amply around the house and back to the first terrace, where a tangle of berry vines covered trellises that shut off a lower level devoted to vegetables. Beyond this was the chickens’ domain, rock-dotted acres that sloped sharply to where Runa Creek boiled over its stony bed. Here mother hens fluttered and scolded while web-footed broods paddled in the edges of the stream. “Please did the lot hurt Joner when it fell?” queried a sober-minded seeker of truth..
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