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.
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'm fitting the ship for a summer sail home.
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 […]
