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Catherwood, Mary Hartwell, 1847-1902

"Old Caravan Days"

I once saw a cave break
through and swallow one out of such a galloping troup, to his great
dismay, for he was running over an imaginary volcano, and when he sat
down to his shoulders in an apple-butter jar, the hot lava seemed
ready made to his hand.
From the toll-woman's cave-roof, spikes of yellow mustard were
shooting up into the air. The door looked as stout as the opening to
a bank vault, though this comparison did not occur to the children,
and was secure with staple and padlock and three huge hinges.
Evidently, no mischievous feet had cantered over the ridge of this
cave.
It stood a few yards from the back door.
"I had the key in my pocket," said the toll-woman, "and ever since
then I've never carried it anywhere else. I clapped, it into the
padlock and turned, but just as I pulled the door I heard feet comin'
around the house full drive. Instead of jumpin' into the cave I
jumped behind it. I thought they had me, but I wasn't goin' to be
crunched to death in a hole, like a mouse. My stocking-feet slipped,
and I came down flat, but right where the shadow of the house and the
shadow of the cave fell all over me. If I hadn't slipped I'd been
runnin' across that field, and they'd seen me sure.


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