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A Certain Rich Man

Creator: White, William Allen, 1868-1944
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the tall youth and the plump little girl down the walk from the Culpepper home through the gate and into the main road. And the couple that walked behind took the opposite direction from that which they took who walked ahead. Yet when John and Ellen reached the river and were seated on the mill-dam, where the roar of the falling water drowned their voices, Ellen Culpepper spoke first: "That looks like them over on the bridge. I can see Molly, and Bob's hat about three feet above her." "I guess so," returned the boy. He was reaching behind him for clods and pebbles to toss into the white foaming flood below them. The girl reached back and got one, then another, then their hands met, and she pulled hers away and said, "Get me some stones." He gave her a handful, and she threw the pebbles away slowly and awkwardly, one at a time. There was a long gap in their talk while they threw the pebbles. The girl closed it with, "Ma made old Buck wipe the dishes." Then she giggled, "Poor Buckie." John managed to say, "Yes, I heard him." Then he added, "What does your mother think of Bob?" "Oh, she likes him fine. But she's glad you're all going away." The boy asked why and the girl returned, "Watch me hit that log." She threw, and missed the water.
The Story of Pocahontas

THE STORY OF POCAHONTAS By Charles Dudley Warner The simple story of the life of Pocahontas is sufficiently romantic without the embellishments which have been wrought on it either by the vanity of Captain Smith or the natural pride of the descendants of this dusky princess who have been ennobled by the smallest rivulet of her red blood. That she was a child of remarkable intelligence, and that she early showed a tender regard for the whites and rendered them willing and unwilling service, is the concurrent evidence of all contemporary testimony. That as a child she was well-favored, sprightly, and prepossessing above all her copper-colored companions, we can believe, and that as a woman her manners were attractive. If the portrait taken of her in London--the best engraving of which is by Simon de Passe--in 1616, when she is said to have been twenty-one years old, does her justice, she had marked Indian features.
"Why?" persisted the boy. The girl was digging in a crevice for a stone and said, "Can you get that out?" John worked at it a moment and handed it to her with, "Why?" She threw it, standing up to give her arm strength. She sat down and folded her hands and waited for another "why." When it came she said, "Oh, you know why." When he protested she answered, "Ma thinks Molly's too young." "Too young for what?" demanded the boy, who knew. "Too young to be going with boys." There was a long pause, then he managed to say it, "She's no younger than you were--nor half as old." "When?" returned the girl, giving him the broadside of her eyes for a second, and letting them droop. The eyes bewitched the boy, and he could not speak. At length the girl shivered, "It's getting cold--I must go home." The boy found voice. "Aw no, Bob and Molly are still up there."