When at last the sun dropped below the edge of the distant hills, leaving the Canyon in deep purple shadow, Bob turned to Mr. Whitney.,
Steve Whitney shook his head. “No—but I’ll tell you all about it as we go to the hotel. Grab your satchel and come along.”,
Johnny Blossom hastened to get Mother’s sharpest scissors—the big shiny ones—for he intended to cut some long strips of stout cloth to tie the goat’s legs with. Johnny cut and cut. Suddenly the big blades slipped, caught Johnny’s little finger, and before he knew it, had cut the tip of it clean off! It hurt awfully—oh, well—not so terribly after all; but my, oh, my! how it bled! Johnny Blossom bound his not over-clean handkerchief around it, but still the blood came. Now it was all over his trousers. Perhaps he had better hide until it stopped..
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