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The Raid of the Guerilla
, but still stood with his muzzle close to the surface, his lips dripping, gazing with un-imagined thoughts at the reflection of his big equine eyes, the blue sky inverted, the dappling yellow leaves, more golden even than the sunshine, and the glimmering flight of birds, with a stellular light upon their wings.
"A turrible man?--w-w-well," stuttered the idiot, who had of late assumed all the port of coherence; he snatched and held a part in the colloquy, so did the dignity of labor annul the realization of his infirmity, "then I'd be obleeged ter him ef--ef--ef he'd stay out'n Tanglefoot Cove."
"So would I." The miller laughed uneasily. But for the corrugations of time, one might not have known if it were flour or age that had so whitened his long beard, which hung quivering down over the breast of his jeans coat, of an indeterminate hue under its frosting from the hopper. "He hev tuk up a tumble spite at Tanglefoot Cove."
The blacksmith nodded. "They say that he 'lowed ez traitors orter