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Just as they were beginning to get warm they heard two or three loud knocks at the door. It was the ogre who had come home. His wife immediately made the children hide under the bed, and went to open the door. The ogre first asked if his supper was ready, and if she had drawn the wine, and with that he sat down to his meal. The mutton was all but raw, but he liked it all the better for that. He sniffed right and left, saying that he smelt fresh meat. "It must be the calf I have just skinned," said his wife. "I tell you, I smell fresh meat," replied the ogre, giving an angry glance at his wife; "there is something here I do not understand." With these words, he rose from the table and went straight towards the bed. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "so this is the way in which you would deceive me, you wretched woman! I do not know what hinders me from eating you also! It is well for you that you are such an old creature! But here is some game, which comes in handy, and will serve to feast three of my ogre friends, who are soon coming to pay me a visit." He dragged the children from under the bed, one after the other. They fell upon their knees, begging for mercy, but they had to deal with the most cruel of all the ogres, and who, far from feeling pity for them, devoured them already with his eyes, and said to his wife that they would be dainty bits, when she had made a good sauce for them. He went and took up a large knife, and as he came towards the children again, he whetted it on a long stone that he held in his left hand. He had already seized one of them, when his wife said to him, "Why are you doing that at this hour of night? Will it not be time enough to-morrow?" "Hold your peace," replied the ogre. "They will be the more tender." "But you have already too much food," continued his wife. "Here are a calf, two sheep, and half a pig." "You are right," said the ogre, "give them a good supper, that they may keep plump, and then put them to bed." The good woman was rejoiced, and brought them plenty of supper; but they could not eat, they were so overcome with fright. As for the ogre, he seated himself to drink again, delighted to think he had such a treat in store for his friends. He drained a dozen goblets more than usual, which made him feel sleepy and heavy, and obliged him to go to bed.,

Johnny shook the brown little finger almost in Uncle Isaac’s face.,

“There is so much to remember, Mother!”

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“Must have been fun,” was Jerry’s comment. “And if you’ve made a friend of Feather-in-the-Wind, you ought to be proud. He’ll be useful, too, as he’s the chief of that bunch of Apaches. Once an Indian is a friend, you know, he’s a friend for good.”,

Conversation may be divided into two classes—the familiar and the sentimental. It is the province of the familiar, to diffuse cheerfulness and ease—to open the heart of man to man, and to beam a temperate sunshine upon the mind.—Nature and art must conspire to render us susceptible of the charms, and to qualify us for the practice of the second class of conversation, here termed sentimental, and in which Madame de Menon particularly excelled. To good sense, lively feeling, and natural delicacy of taste, must be united an expansion of mind, and a refinement of thought, which is the result of high cultivation. To render this sort of conversation irresistibly attractive, a knowledge of the world is requisite, and that enchanting case, that elegance of manner, which is to be acquired only by frequenting the higher circles of polished life. In sentimental conversation, subjects interesting to the heart, and to the imagination, are brought forward; they are discussed in a kind of sportive way, with animation and refinement, and are never continued longer than politeness allows. Here fancy flourishes,—the sensibilities expand—and wit, guided by delicacy and embellished by taste—points to the heart.,

After his coat, Bob ripped off his flannel shirt and tore it down a seam. Then, with the greatest care, he began to unravel the threads that made up the fabric. The loose threads would burn when the cloth itself would only go out. Before he had a pile of threads that he felt would be sufficient for his purpose, his fingers ached and his nails were bleeding.,

“Gee, this is bully,” commented Bob, as he lay stretched out on the porch of the general store, out of the glare of the sun. “I never thought just resting could be such fun!”