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قراءة كتاب A Little Norsk; Or, Ol' Pap's Flaxen
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A LITTLE NORSK
OR
OL' PAP'S FLAXEN
By
HAMLIN GARLAND
AUTHOR OF MAIN TRAVELED ROADS,
A MEMBER OF THE THIRD HOUSE, A SPOIL OF OFFICE,
JASON EDWARDS, ETC.
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1892
Copyright, 1892,
By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
Printed at the
Appleton Press, U.S.A.
On the Plain.
My cabin cowers in the pathless sweep
Of the terrible northern blast;
Above its roof the wild clouds leap
And shriek as they hurtle past.
The snow-waves hiss along the plain,
Like spectral wolves they stretch and strain
And race and ramp—with hissing beat,
Like stealthy tread of myriad feet,
I hear them pass; upon the roof
The icy showers swirl and rattle;
At times the moon, from storms aloof,
Shines white and wan within the room—
Then swift clouds drive across the light
And all the plain is lost to sight,
The cabin rocks, and on my palm
The sifted snow falls, cold and calm.
God! What a power is in the wind!
I lay my cheek to the cabin side
To feel the weight of his giant hands—
A speck, a fly in the blasting tide
Of streaming, pitiless, icy sands;
A single heart with its feeble beat—
A mouse in the lion's throat—
A swimmer at sea—a sunbeam's mote
In the grasp of a tempest of hail and sleet!
Contents.
PAGE
- Her Adoptive Parents1
- Her First Trip in a Blizzard9
- The Burial of her Dead Mother22
- Flaxen Adopts Anson as "Pap"32
- Flaxen Becomes Indispensable to the Two Old Bachelors38
- A Question of Dress46
- After Harvest69
- An Empty House78
- "Baching" it Again86
- Flaxen Comes Home on a Vacation105
- Flaxen Grows Restless113
- Flaxen Says Good-bye124
- Flaxen's Great Need133
- Kendall Steps Out148
- Bert Comes Back153
A LITTLE NORSK.
CHAPTER I.
HER ADOPTIVE PARENTS.
"Ans, the next time you twist hay f'r the fire, I wish't you'd dodge the damp spots," said the cook, rising from a prolonged scrutiny of the stove and the bread in the oven. His pose was threatening.
"Cooks are always grumblin'," calmly remarked Anson, drawing on his gloves preparatory to going out to the barn; "but seein' 's this is Chris'mus, I'll go out an' knock a barrel to pieces. I want them biscuit to be O.K. See?"
"Yes: I see."
"Say, Bert!"
"Well?"
"Can't we have some sugar-'lasses on our biscuits, seein' it's Chris'mus?"
"Well, I s'pose we can, Ans; but we're gittin' purty low on the thing these days, an' they ain't no tellin' when we'll be able to git more."
"Well, jes' as you say, not as I care." Anson went out into the roaring wind with a shout of defiance, but came back instantly, as if to say something he had forgotten. "Say, wha' d'ye s'pose is the trouble over to the Norsk's? I hain't seen a sign o' smoke over there f'r two 'r three days."
"Well, now you speak of it, Ans, I've be'n thinkin' about that myself. I'm afraid he's out o' coal, 'r sick, 'r somethin'. It 'u'd be mighty tough f'r the woman an' babe to be there without any fire, an' this blizzard whoopin' her up. I guess you'd better go over an' see what's up. I was goin' to speak of it this mornin', but f'rgot it, I'm cook this week, so I guess the job falls on you."
"All right. Here goes."
"Better take a horse."
"No: I guess not. The snow is driftin' purty bad, an' he couldn't git through the drifts, anyway."
"Well, lookout f'r y'rself, ol' man. It looks purty owly off in the west. Don't waste any time. I'd hate like thunder to be left