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Bacheller, Irving, 1859-1950

"Eben Holden, a tale of the north country"

It
was a splendid thing to see - that white-haired man, sitting erect on
the flying animal, with only a rope halter in his hand. Every man
about me was yelling. I swung my hat, shouting myself hoarse.
When Uncle Eb came back the Hawk was walking quietly in a
crowd of men and boys eager to feel his silken sides. I crowded
through and held the horse's nose while Uncle Eb got down.
'Thought I wouldn't put no luther on him,' said Uncle Eb, 'God's
gin' 'im a good 'nuff harness.'
The judges came and looked him over.
'Guess he'll win the prize all right,' said one of them.
And he did. When we came home that evening every horse on the
road thought himself a trotter and went speeding to try his pace
with everything that came up beside him. And many a man of
Faraway, that we passed, sent up a shout of praise for the Black
Hawk.
But I was thinking of Hope and the dance at Rickard's. I had plenty
of money now and my next letter urged her to come home at once.

Chapter 24
Hope returned for a few days late in August.


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