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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"Peter: a novel of which he is not the hero"


All this had been spoiled by a wild, untamed colt of a boy whom he
could not help liking in spite of his peculiarities.
And yet, was his sister not right? Why bother himself any more
about a man so explosive and so tactless--and he WAS a man, so
far as years and stature went, who, no matter what he might
attempt for his advancement, would as surely topple it over as lie
would a house of cards. That the boy's ideals were high, and his
sincerity beyond question, was true, but what use would these
qualities be to him if he lacked the common-sense to put them
into practice?
All this he told to the fire--first to one little heap of coals--
then another--snuggling together--and then to the big back-log
scarred all over in its fight to keep everybody warm and happy.
Suddenly his round, glistening head ceased bobbing back and forth;
his lips, which had talked incessantly without a sound falling
from them, straightened; his gesticulating fingers tightened into
a hard knot and the old fellow rose from his easy-chair.


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