He's not big." "I am sure I can never guess.

Whoa, Pony!" Pony was most unwilling to get in close enough to the gate-post to let Hughie spring on behind his mother.
"You'll have to be quick, Hughie, when I get near again.

There now! Whoa, Pony! Take care, child!" Hughie had sprung clean off the post, and lighting on Pony's back just behind the saddle, had clutched his mother round the waist, while the pony started off full gallop for the stable.
"Now, mother, who is it ?" insisted Hughie, as Lambert, the French-Canadian man-of-all-work, lifted him from his place.
"You'll have to tell me, Hughie!" "Ranald!" "Ranald ?" "Yes, Ranald and his father, Macdonald Dubh, and he's hurted awful bad, and--" "Hurt, Hughie," interposed the mother, gently.
"Huh-huh! Ranald said he was hurted." "Hurt, you mean, Hughie.

Who was hurt?
Ranald ?" "No; his father was hurted--hurt--awful bad.

He was lying down in the sleigh, and Yankee Jim--" "Mr.Latham, you mean, Hughie." "Huh-huh," went on Hughie, breathlessly, "and Yankee--Mr.Latham asked if the minister was home, and I said 'No,' and then they went away." "What was the matter?
Did you see them, Lambert ?" "Oui" ("Way," Lambert pronounced it), "but dey not tell me what he's hurt." The minister's wife went toward the house, with a shadow on her face.
She shared with her husband his people's sorrows.