Diana's Short Stories

You should have seen the giant stare.
"Truly, friend, you have a goodly appetite," he said. "You have eaten all the meat that I have in my larder; and if you dine with us to morrow, I must insist that you catch your own dinner of fish. I cannot undertake to provide food for such an appetite!"

 

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“Come on, there, you mangy, turtle backed, snake headed, bench legged ton and a half of soap grease!” shouted the dogman, with a new note in his voice and a new hand on the leash. The dog scrambled after them, with an angry whine at such unusual language from his guardian. At the foot of Twenty third Street the dogman led the way through swinging doors.

 

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“We want to start a club for playing baseball, like the big clubs they have in Brooklyn and New York.”
“How shall we do it?” asked Henry Scott.
“We must first appoint a captain of the club, who will have power to assign the members to their different positions. Of course you will want one that understands about these matters.”

 

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"He was an alderman,' she was goin' on, but old Mis' Winslow cuts in on her:-- "'It don't matter what he was when he was man grown,' s'she. It's when they're little bits o' ones,' she says.
"'Little!' says Grandma Holly. 'Is it little you mean? Well, my Amy's two little feet use' to be swallowed up in my hand  so,' she says, shuttin' her hand over to show us. 

 

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After a brief wait, long enough to allow transfer of baggage, we leave, from the same station, for the fifteen miles' ride to Tahoe Tavern on the very edge of the Lake. This ride is itself romantic and beautiful. On the day trains observation cars are provided, and the hour is one of delightful, restful and enchanting scenes. 

 

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He was an ugly grey dog with long silken soft ears and a bushy tail. He was born in a splendid stable that belonged to a rich man. This rich man lived on a large estate in which were fields and meadows. And in these fields grew sugarcane, in great quantities, great, round, smooth canes that contained the sweet sugar. 

 

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Snowflower had no relation in the world but a very old grandmother, called Dame Frostyface. People did not like her quite so well as her granddaughter, for she was cross enough at times, though always kind to Snowflower. They lived together in a little cottage built of peat and thatched with reeds, on the edge of a great forest.

 

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But when she had once begun she did not know how to leave off, and kept going deeper and deeper amongst the trees looking for some still more beautiful flower. The Wolf, however, ran straight to the house of the old grandmother, and knocked at the door.
"Who's there?" asked the old lady.

 

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"How you can possibly allow yourself to speak to me in such a manner, I cannot imagine.  It is very evident that you are no Beauchamp."
The scorn expressed in her grandmother’s tones acted in the same way as a touch of the whip about the ears of a thoroughbred mare.  She started, and tears of wounded pride welled up in her flashing hazel eyes, but they were quickly forced back.

 

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There was danger that anything which was of a nature to keep on burning might catch fire at him, and when well lit might find that the creating heat had gone out, or had withdrawn itself. She knew herself, by instinct, faithful to the core, and if once she consented to love the man, she would have to go on doing it. And she not only tried not to love the butterfly, but had tried her loyal hardest to love the bulldog. 

 

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