The Soldier of the Valley by Nelson Lloyd
page 81 of 207 (39%)
page 81 of 207 (39%)
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there he would sit, his head buried in his hands, snuffling and snuffling
until books. Now I spoke sharply to the boy. He raised his head and fixed one red eye on me, for the other was hidden by his hand. "I guesst you was never hit on the eye by a ball, was ye?" he stuttered. "I guess I have been," was my reply. "I was a good round-town player, and you never saw me crying like that, either." "I was playin' sock-ball," snuffled the boy, and a solitary tear rolled down his snub nose. He flicked it away with his right hand, and this act disclosed to me a great bluish swelling, from under which a bit of eye was twinkling mournfully at me. The boy was hurt; my heart went out to him, for the memory of my own sock-ball and tickley-bender days came back to me. "Come, come," I said more kindly, laying a hand on the black head. "Brace up, Daniel, for I must call the others in, and you don't want them to see you crying. Dare to be like the great Daniel, who wasn't even afraid of the wild beasts." "But Dan'el in the Lion's Den never played sock-ball," whimpered the boy, covering each eye with a chubby fist as he rubbed away the traces of his tears. Beware, Daniel Arker! Form not in my mind such a picture as that of the mighty prophet in his robes being "it." Over the mantel in our parlor we have a picture of the lion's den, and it is one of the choicest of our |
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