Matt told him to open his mouth and close his eyes, and he’d give him a big surprise. And just as he was about to try and jam the cowturd in, Thomas clamped down on his hand like a dog that hadn’t eaten in about a week and started gnawing it for all he was worth.[…]Then he had to open his mouth to get him a big breath. And the old cowturd went right in there.[…]But I’d be lying if I said I didn't enjoy watching Thomas eat the cowturd, too. But part of me also hated watching Thomas eat the cowturd. Because I knew that it could very easily have been me eating the cowturd.
I confess to having felt a prejudice against sleeping in a bag, more especially a sheepskin bag, which would probably have a muttony odor; but it was pronounced to be the warmest and least cumbersome form of bedding we could have […]
If he be strong-handed, (has property,) he has the trees felled, about one foot from the earth, dragged into heaps, and made into an immense bonfire.
I'm fitting the ship for a summer sail home.
