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Betty, orphaned at the age of six, had been adopted by the kind-hearted Mrs. Wopp. The child found her chief joy in life, outside of Jethro, Nancy and Job, in a flower-bed. A small plot of ground had been allotted her for her own use, and there every spring for the last four years her precious flowers had bloomed and had filled her eyes with brightness and her soul with gladness. Morning-glories and nasturtiums were the surest to bloom. They climbed the strings so gracefully and turned the old weather-beaten fence where they grew into a tapestry of gorgeous dyes. Friday came; and May Nell delighted her father with her part in the exercises. Billy was very proud of her as she stood on the platform, lovely in her white frock and her fair, curling hair, reciting her “piece.” “Yes; but I’m afraid my papa’s dead, he’s been gone so long.” How she hated that word “kid.”.
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kez_ h (Kez_h)
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The schooner was washing slowly along under her three lower gaff sails only, and the frigate that carried everything but studding sails was speedily within ranging and hailing distance. She was the Amphion, without much beauty to detain the eye, unless the gaze climbed aloft where every sail was cut and set with the perfection that was the characteristic of the British man-of-war, and where the running and standing rigging was ruled as delicately against the sky as though exquisitely pencilled on paper, and on high, just under the gleaming button of the truck, shimmered the long pennant in fluctuating dyes like a thread of a girl's golden hair floating on the breeze. But her sheathing was rusty and ungainly with marine growths, and her sides wanted the paint-pot, but the run of the hammock cloths was as white as snow, and her row of cannon and the sparkle of uniform buttons and the colour got from the marine sentry posted here or there, heightened the war-like spectacle to the degree of a marine piece charged with the loveliness of finish and precision and imposing and stirring with the spirit of war.I tried logging in using my phone number and I
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"Still begging of your honours' pardon," said Captain Weaver, "suppose the Minorca do back her topsail and we launch our boat; Mr Lawrence makes out his father and Captain Acton in the starn sheets. Will he stay to receive ye? Won't he fill on his topsail and be off?"
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Conrad
Rational people laughed at these stories, declared them the fancies of brains fuddled by too long a stay at the saloons in town. But Billy was not so easily satisfied. He wished to see for himself those shadowy forms; to prove to the small, scared children that, contrary to general belief, the brothers sometimes had guests. And he had a queer feeling that some way the house would have a place in his life. He admired its gloomy grandeur; planned the additions he would make if it were his own, and the gardens, the hedges of roses, and banks of fragrant smilax, that should grow there. For a minute Billy stood, dazed, his heart thumping hard. Then he threw his cap in the air, sang out, “Bully for the Gang! This time it’s Billy To-day!” and raced down the hill to join them. “I’ve watched, and called to him from the inside; but he only stands and mews. Did you ever see him climb up and open the screen?” “And I thought all the crew were washed overboard like chips,” he went on; “and I was left alone. And she shipped water in mountains. And I was cold as the North Pole. And at last she foundered, and I went down with her. And when I couldn’t choke any more I woke up.”.
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