done to that nice man of yours? From now on, once he's touched you with the spell on you, he won't be able to see or hear or feel any living creature, or any inanimate thing that a living being is using, and no living being can ever again see or hear or feel him. Satan only knows what kind of existence he'll have from now on—and all because you're a little flibbertigibbet that disobeyed your mother!"
"Oh, mamma, I'm sorry," mewed the kitten. "Please don't hurt me—honest, I won't ever do it again.
"Please, please—I said I was sorry! Ouch! He was such a nice man!"
By Clarence Edward Flynn
This is a trail that dusky warriors beat,
And brave explorers charting out new lands,
And pioneers on ever-questing feet,
And skin-clad trappers, and fierce outlaw bands.
Here walked the conquerors of raging streams
And frowning passes on the danger way.
Here walked proud men pursuing empire dreams,
The makers of a mighty yesterday.
It is no little thing this road to know.
They were the mighty challenge of an age
Who made it vibrant in the long ago.
In Time's great tale it is a living page.
History wrote in a heroic mood.
It is as though the legions of the dead
Built some strange glory in the solitude,
A way of destiny for us to tread.
