"It is your grand-daughter, Little Red Riding-Hood," answered the Wolf, imitating the child's voice. "I have brought a cake and a little jar of butter, which my mother has sent you." The good grandmother, who was ill in bed, called out, "Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up." The Wolf pulled the bobbin, and the door opened. He leaped on to the poor old woman, and ate her up in less than no time, for he had been three days without food. He then shut the door again, and laid himself down in the grandmother's bed, to wait for Little Red Riding-Hood. Presently she came and knocked at the door: tap, tap.,
His reverie was broken by a nudge on the arm. He looked up to see a shadow darting along the path. Nearer and nearer it came until it passed almost close enough to the point where they were sitting to be touched by Bob’s hand should he thrust it from cover.,
Johnny Blossom swung his cap, then suddenly remembering his whistle, took that out and blew it hard. Then he laughed heartily and blew it once more. All the black faces up at the railing laughed also. After this farewell the boat was rowed to the shore and Johnny Blossom was soon running up the street.,
“You are determined, Bob?” the older man asked. Bob knew to what his father referred.
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“Now that was kind of you,” said Grandmother as she sat once more on the slope in front of the house.,
'Hippolitus!' said Julia, in a tremulous accent, 'Hippolitus, Count de Vereza!'—'The same,' replied the nun, in a tone of surprize. Julia was speechless; tears, however, came to her relief. The astonishment of Cornelia for some moment surpassed expression; at length a gleam of recollection crossed her mind, and she too well understood the scene before her. Julia, after some time revived, when Cornelia tenderly approaching her, 'Do I then embrace my sister!' said she. 'United in sentiment, are we also united in misfortune?' Julia answered with her sighs, and their tears flowed in mournful sympathy together. At length Cornelia resumed her narrative.,
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Holding it as if it were glass, Bob scratched it on the hard floor. It did not light. Again he pulled it across the hard surface and a little flare spurted from the head and then died out.
“But Father would not like your doing this, John.”
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With the utmost caution, the boy laid the burning stick down on the faintly red ashes of the threads and arranged other sticks on it. Then, gently, he breathed over it and the little flame grew and multiplied. Soon it was going briskly, but it was not till then that the load of fear dropped from Bob’s shoulders.
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Johnny Blossom made no answer to this remark, but got up quickly from his chair by the door and went over to the window where Aunt Grenertsen sat.
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The King, who passed by a minute afterwards, wished to know to whom belonged all the cornfields he saw. "To my Lord the Marquis of Carabas," repeated the reapers, and the King again congratulated the Marquis on his property.
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