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Carl and the Cotton Gin By: Sara Ware Bassett (1872-1968) |
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CARL AND THE COTTON GIN by SARA WARE BASSETT With Illustrations by William F. Stecher Boston Little, Brown, and Company 1924 Copyright, 1924, by Little, Brown, and Company. All rights reserved Published September, 1924 Printed in the United States of America CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I THE MCGREGORS 1 II CARL TELLS A STORY 17 III A TRAGEDY 31 IV PROBLEMS 45 V A TANGLE OF SURPRISES 60 VI THE WEB WIDENS 71 VII THE COMING OF THE FAIRY GODMOTHER 79 VIII THE ROMANCE OF COTTON 97 IX NORTH AND SOUTH 112 X A LESSON IN THRIFT 124 XI A FAMILY CONGRESS 140 XII A CLUE 160 XIII HAL REPEATS HIS VISIT 180 XIV SPINNING YARNS 193 XV TIDINGS 219 XVI A RELUCTANT ALTRUIST 228 XVII AN ORDEAL 237 XVIII THE SOLUTION OF MANY MYSTERIES 250 XIX UNRAVELING THE SNARLS 259 ILLUSTRATIONS "MR. CARL MCGREGOR," ANNOUNCED HE IN A STENTORIAN TONE Frontispiece Page "THE COTTON IS SENT TO FACTORIES TO BE GINNED" " 129 "BUT THAT ISN'T OUR BASKET, MOTHER," CARL SAID. "THIS IS MUCH BIGGER" 155 "I'VE HUNTED FOR YOU AND YOUR RED CAR EVER SINCE" 253 CARL AND THE COTTON GIN CHAPTER I THE McGREGORS "Carl!" "Coming, Ma!" Mrs. McGregor waited a moment. "But you aren't coming," protested she fretfully. "You never seem to come when you're wanted. Drat the child! Where is he? Carl!" "Yes, Ma." " Yes, Ma! Yes, Ma! " the woman mimicked impatiently. "It's easy enough to shout Yes, Ma ; but where are you that's what I want to know. You're the slowest creature on God's earth, I believe. A tortoise would be a race horse compared with you. What under the sun are you doing?" The boy entered, a good humored grin on his face. He was thin, lanky, and blue eyed, and a rebellious lock of tawny hair that curled despite all he could do waved back from his forehead. He might have been fourteen years old or he might have been seventeen; it was hard to tell whether he was an overgrown younger boy or an under sized older one. Whatever his age, however, he could certainly boast a serene disposition, for his mother's caustic comments failed to ruffle his temper. Having heard them ever since babyhood he was quite accustomed to their acid tang; moreover, he had learned to gage them for what they were worth and class them along with the froth on a soda or the sputter of a freshly lighted match. The thing underneath was what mattered and he knew well that beneath the torrent of words his mother was the best mother on earth, so what more could a boy ask? Therefore he stood before her, whistling softly and waiting to see what would happen next. For something surely would happen; it always did when Mrs. McGregor rolled up her sleeves, and they were rolled up now, displaying beneath the margin of blue gingham a powerful arm terminating in a strong hand and slender, capable fingers... Continue reading book >>
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Fiction |
Teen/Young adult |
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