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Before Bob could answer, Tom Wickham had broken in.,

“Yes. All got guns. Horses too. Bad men.”,

“Yes, but you see we didn’t drown; and my blouse got dry as tinder at the fireplace in Tellef’s house. Just feel how dry it is!”,

“Not a thing if we’ve got to stay here,” said the other and relapsed into silence.

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When he passed Kingthorpe, he took care not to glance in that direction; it would be too sad to see the stable and all that. He had a lump in his throat the whole way and was in utter misery, but he kept on running doggedly. When some boys called to him he only ran the faster, without looking back.,

“It’s been a cinch so far, but just wait. We’ve not started to get into trouble yet. We’ll get ours all right before we’re through.”,

But it was in similar canyons, smaller, perhaps, that the Service built its dams. Down the sides of cliffs like these, which even the mountain goats had difficulty in mastering, the Service had to build its roads. It was to such desolate beauty that the Service brought progress and the service of mankind. In his imagination Bob saw the smooth face of an enormous dam filling even this great canyon,—generating enough horse power to run all the factories of the West, and collecting enough water to irrigate all the homes that could be made on the great American desert. Right then nothing was too stupendous a task for final achievement. His whole being thrilled with the thought that he was to be a part of the Service, that he was to have a hand in the great work that it was doing and would do.,

'Soon after my noviciation, I had the misfortune to lose my dear father. In the tranquillity of this monastery, however, in the soothing kindness of my companions, and in devotional exercises, my sorrows found relief, and the sting of grief was blunted. My repose was of short continuance. A circumstance occurred that renewed the misery, which, can now never quit me but in the grave, to which I look with no fearful apprehension, but as a refuge from calamity, trusting that the power who has seen good to afflict me, will pardon the imperfectness of my devotion, and the too frequent wandering of my thoughts to the object once so dear to me.'