Shep bounced into the house with hair on end and the chickens cackled and the old rooster clapped his wings and crowed with all the power of his lungs.

Every member of that little group stood stock-still and breathless.
I trembled with a fear I could not have defined.

Quick relief came when, straightway, my uncle went out of the room and stood on the stoop, back toward us, and blew his nose vigorously with his big red handkerchief.
He stood still looking down and wiping his eyes.

Mr.Grimshaw shuffled out of the door, his cane rapping the floor as if his arm had been stricken with palsy in a moment.
Mr.Dunkelberg turned to my aunt, his face scarlet, and muttered an apology for the disturbance and followed the money-lender.
I remember that my own eyes were wet as I went to my aunt and kissed her.

She kissed me--a rare thing for her to do--and whispered brokenly but with a smile: "We'll go down to the poorhouse together, Bart, but we'll go honest." "Come on, Bart," Uncle Peabody called cheerfully, as he walked toward the barnyard.