The Golden Age by Kenneth Grahame
page 25 of 137 (18%)
page 25 of 137 (18%)
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"They won't be Indians," I replied at last; "nor yet Roundheads. There haven't been any Roundheads seen about here for a long time. They'll be Frenchmen." Harold's face fell. "All right," he said; "Frenchmen'll do; but I did hope they'd be Indians." "If they were going to be Indians," I explained, "I--I don't think I'd go on. Because when Indians take you prisoner they scalp you first, and then burn you at a stake. But Frenchmen don't do that sort of thing." "Are you quite sure?" asked Harold doubtfully. "Quite," I replied. "Frenchmen only shut you up in a thing called the Bastille; and then you get a file sent in to you in a loaf of bread, and saw the bars through, and slide down a rope, and they all fire at you--but they don't hit you--and you run down to the seashore as hard as you can, and swim off to a British frigate, and there you are!" Harold brightened up again. The programme was rather attractive. "If they try to take us prisoner," he said, "we--we won't run, will we?" Meanwhile, the craven foe was a long time showing himself; and we were reaching strange outland country, uncivilised, wherein lions might be expected to prowl at nightfall. I had a stitch in my |
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