Tag: Short Story

The Story of The Little Mamsell

ld certainly have put old Mahlmann’s characteristic head on his canvas. He had a clever old face with a firm mouth and glittering eyes whose expression was so sombre and at the same time observant that we children imagined old Mahlmann was different from other people. And indeed so he was. To begin with he never thanked anyone for bringing him food; in fact he criticized freely the benefits he received. If one brought what was not to his liking, he would say: “Go home and tell your mother old Mahlmann is not a waste-tub where you throw what’s not fit to eat. You needn’t come again either!”
In this manner he got himself into disfavor with many a good housewife, who would protest by all that was holy that never would she send the hoary old sinner anything again. But Mahlmann never cared. His needs were few and there was always some one to satisfy them.
For me the old man with the sombre eyes had a peculiar fascination; I think from the fact that he once told me a wonderful ghost-story. There were at least half a dozen witches and a whole dozen ghosts in this tale, and for many nights after I went to bed in tears, and only on condition some one sat with me till I fell asleep. Still the spell of these horrors was so strong upon me that I visited Mahlmann all the more» and often bought him something out of my own slender pocket-money to induce him to tell stories. I was not always successful, fo

Th’ Barrel Organ

, an’ then they play’n o’ theirsel, beawt ony fingerin’ or blowin’. So they ordert one made, wi’ some favour-ite tunes in–‘Burton,’ and ‘Liddy,’ an’ ‘French,’ an’ ‘Owd York,’ an’ sich like. Well, it seems that Robin o’ Sceawter’s, th’ carrier–his feyther went by th’ name o’ ‘Cowd an’ Hungry;’ he’re a quarryman by trade; a long, hard, brown-looking felley, wi’ e’en like gig-lamps, an’ yure as strung as a horse’s mane. He looked as if he’d bin made out o’ owd dur-latches, an’ reawsty nails. Robin, th’ carrier, is his owdest lad; an’ he fawurs a chap at’s bin brought up o’ yirth-bobs an’ scaplins. Well, it seems that Robin brought this box-organ up fro th’ town in his cart o’th Friday neet; an’ as luck would have it, he had to bring a new weshin’-machine at th’ same time, for owd Isaac Buckley, at th’ Hollins Farm. When he geet th’ organ in his cart, they towd him to be careful an’ keep it th’ reet side up; and he wur to mind an’ not shake it mich, for it wur a thing that wur yezzy thrut eawt o’ flunters. Well

On Secret Service

ewood, where he lay concealed from view, whilst the transformed peasant drove the empty sleigh hastily along a road which branched off at right angles to the Smovitch route, along which Bareilly, now standing on a rough board thrown across the shafts where they joined the body of the sleigh, urged on his clumsy horses at a good swift walk, to all appearances a typical Russian peasant.
Barely two minutes after the heavy wood-sleigh had got under way, the outwitted policemen dashed up in a sleigh which they had borrowed from the innkeeper. Here the marks of two sleighs caused them to halt some minutes, but a closer examination showed that whilst one set of tracks was made by some heavily laden vehicle, most probably by the one they could just see disappearing down the Smovitch road, the other marks were closer together, and lighter. Without further hesitation they dashed off towards the River Vetluga, whither the sleigh-marks led, only to find, after a chase of ten miles, the fugitive sleigh, deserted an

Old Mission Stories of California

t
work, for Ouiot speaks through you.’ And, a few days later, after the
burial of the dead, she told the chief men of the tribe what I had seen.
And then ended my happiness: from that day I lived a life of sorrow, for
the burden I had to bear was a heavy one: not only when I foretold
disaster and suffering to our people, but when I had joyful news for
them, even then the dread of knowing the future was terrible. Sometimes
a half-year would pass without communication from above, and I would
begin to hope that the awful gift was taken from me; but always it would
manifest itself again. My husband (for I had been married not long after
my first dream) left me just before your mother was born, but I did not
want, for I was provided with everything by the entire tribe. Your
mother, also, when she grew to be a woman, left me to be married to your
father; but when he died, he asked me to take care of his only child,
and that is why you and I have lived together all these years.”
The old woman paused, and several

Delenda est Carthago

ires ou utiles; de lá naissent les metiers si divers et les échanges qui en sont la suite. Voyez au-dessus, la vie intellectuelle, dans son double essor, la science et l’art: pour naitre, grandir, s’épanouir, ces deux fleurs plongent leurs racines dans le terrain social et empruntent à l’atmosphère sociale l’air qu’elles respirent.
Plus nécessaire encore et plus belle, plus générale aussi est la vie morale, puisqu’elle règne en toute conscience humaine, et qu’elle prépare l’immortelle vie, la vie en Dieu, à l’aquelle tout homme est destiné! Or, c’est dans la vie sociale que se conservent les données fondamentales de la morale; c’est là qu’elles trouvent leurs principales applications.
Toute vie morale, en effet, repose sur une tradition religieuse aussi ancienne que l’homme; elle est dominée par un fait qui est la vocation de l’humanité à un état surnaturel et à un