For there
stood Dick Varley, and his mild-looking mother, and his loving dog
Crusoe. There, too, stood Joe Blunt, like a bronzed warrior returned
from the fight, turning from one to another as question poured in upon
question almost too rapidly to permit of a reply. There, too, stood
Henri, making enthusiastic speeches to whoever chose to listen to
him--now glaring at the crowd with clenched fists and growling voice,
as he told of how Joe and he had been tied hand and foot, and lashed
to poles, and buried in leaves, and threatened with a slow death by
torture; at other times bursting into a hilarious laugh as he held
forth on the predicament of Mahtawa, when that wily chief was treed
by Crusoe in the prairie. Young Marston was there, too, hanging about
Dick, whom he loved as a brother and regarded as a perfect hero.
Grumps, too, was there, and Fan. Do you think, reader, that Grumps
looked at any one but Crusoe? If you do, you are mistaken. Grumps
on that day became a regular, an incorrigible, utter, and perfect
nuisance to everybody--not excepting himself, poor beast! Grumps was
a dog of one idea, and that idea was Crusoe.
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