This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1872 Excerpt: ... it's against my rules. You may thank your luck I was not here. Whenever I find children doing it, I give them a rap of some sort to remember me by. So recollect that, and look out' Thekla shrank back, half alarmed; for, though August laughed, his voice was menacing. And she reflected with satisfaction that the big ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1872 Excerpt: ... it's against my rules. You may thank your luck I was not here. Whenever I find children doing it, I give them a rap of some sort to remember me by. So recollect that, and look out' Thekla shrank back, half alarmed; for, though August laughed, his voice was menacing. And she reflected with satisfaction that the big wash just concluded would be the last before' winter. For you must know that, in the Black Forest, Monday is not the terrible occasion it is with us, and ' washing days' come round a great way apart, once in three months perhaps, or something like that. 'I am going to tell you, ' said August, after sitting some time in silence, with his eyes glaring at vacancy, --' I am going to tell you the history of a spark of fire. 'It was born in a hunter's pipe. When he had done smoking, he shook out the hot ashes, and went his way. Most of them died in silence; but one, my little spark, fell upon a brown leaf in a lonely place. 'It was very small, and rather dull. None of its friends and relations supposed it would live long enough to attain to honour and distinction. But I saw it when it fell, and foretold for it a career; in fact, I may say assisted it somewhat in its efforts to get on. 'It had been a dry spring. All the rills and watercourses in the woods were exhausted; and where once their bubbling voices sounded, thirsty, white pebbles lay in the sun. The world was like a tinder-box. Slowly and scantily the sap coursed in the veins of the trees; the vines which clothed them were crisped with heat. The little spark had fallen at a fortunate moment. 'It was very little: a spoonful of water could have quenched it. But it had a soul which longed to expand and soar, and now its chance was come. Steadily and stealthily it ran to and fro: first a twig, then a...
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