Some of 'em said that when a boy had been away from home a couple of years he ought to want to see his folks the first thing.
The headless horseman harrowed Ichabod Crane as he tried to reach the bridge.
Well, he was done, he solaced himself. He had hitched his wagon to a star and been landed in a pestiferous marsh.
Bursdon and Welsford were then, as now, a rolling range of dreary moors, unbroken by tor or tree, or anything save few and far between a world-old furze-bank which marked the common rights of some distant cattle farm, and crossed then, not as now, by a decent road, but by a rough confused trackway, the remnant of an old Roman road from Clovelly dikes to Launceston.
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