life; how he hated him and his pretty face and his good clothes; how they
came to words and blows, and he struck him with his spade, and he fell
into the trench, and he buried him there at the roots of the tree.

Marshall, following his first impulse, thrust the paper into the dull red
coals. It flamed for an instant, and flew with a sound like a sob up the
chimney.

They hunted for Golyer all night, but in the morning found him lying as if
asleep, with the peace of expiation on his pale face, his pruning-knife in
his, heart, and the red current of his life tinging the turf with crimson
around the roots of the Blood Seedling.

JOHN HAY.




The Marquis.



Mrs. Ruggles lived near Crawfish Creek. Crawfish Creek ran near Thompson
City. Thompson City was in a Western State, but now is in a Middle one. It
was always in the midst of a great country--accepting local testimony and
a rank growth of corn and politicians as the tests of greatness. The earth
there was monotonously parched in summer, and monotonously muddy at all
other times. The forests were gigantic, the air carbonic, and when the
citizens wished to give Thompson City the highest commendation, they did
so by saying that "fevernagur" was worse in some other places.