“Soldiers!” Bob gasped as the outlines of the men grew clear against the star-lit sky as they topped a near-by ridge. “Cavalry!”,
Aunt Grenertsen was difficult to talk with—so contrary, somehow, even if not really cross, that it was very tiresome. She wasn’t the least bit like Uncle Isaac of Kingthorpe, who was always kind and gentle, always pleasant. Oh, dear, no! Aunt Grenertsen wasn’t like Uncle Isaac; far, far from it!,
“Yes, indeed, you are to come; you must come. There’s going to be a band of music the whole time.”.
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