Windy McPherson\'s Son
CHAPTER I At the beginning of the long twilight of a summer evening, Sam McPherson, a tall big-boned boy of thirteen, with brown hair, black eyes, and an amusing little habit of tilting his chin in the air as he walked, came upon the station platform of the little corn-shipping town of Caxton in Iowa. It was a board platform, and the boy walked cautiously, lifting his bare feet and putting them down with extreme deliberateness on the hot, dry, cracked planks. Under one arm he carried a bundle of newspapers. A long black cigar was in his hand. In front of the station he stopped; and Jerry Donlin, the baggage-man, seeing the cigar in his hand, laughed, and slowly drew the side of his face up into a laboured wink. "What is the game to-night, Sam?" he asked. Sam stepped to the baggage-room door, handed him the cigar, and began giving directions, pointing into the baggage-room, intent and business- like in the face of the Irishman's laughter. Then, turning, he walked
13:011:012 And after him was Eleazar the son of Dodo, the Ahohite, who
was one of the three mighties.
13:011:013 He was with David at Pasdammim, and there the Philistines were
gathered together to battle, where was a parcel of ground full
of barley; and the people fled from before the Philistines.
13:011:014 And they set themselves in the midst of that parcel, and
delivered it, and slew the Philistines; and the LORD saved
them by a great deliverance.
13:011:015 Now three of the thirty captains went down to the rock to
David, into the cave of Adullam; and the host of the
Philistines encamped in the valley of Rephaim.
13:011:016 And David was then in the hold, and the Philistines' garrison
was then at Bethlehem.
13:011:017 And David longed, and said, Oh that one would give me drink of
the water of the well of Bethlehem, that is at the gate!
13:011:018 And the three brake through the host of the Philistines, and
drew water out of the well of Bethlehem, that was by the gate,
and took it, and brought it to David: but David would not
drink of it, but poured it out to the LORD.
CHAPTER I At the beginning of the long twilight of a summer evening, Sam McPherson, a tall big-boned boy of thirteen, with brown hair, black eyes, and an amusing little habit of tilting his chin in the air as he walked, came upon the station platform of the little corn-shipping town of Caxton in Iowa. It was a board platform, and the boy walked cautiously, lifting his bare feet and putting them down with extreme deliberateness on the hot, dry, cracked planks. Under one arm he carried a bundle of newspapers. A long black cigar was in his hand. In front of the station he stopped; and Jerry Donlin, the baggage-man, seeing the cigar in his hand, laughed, and slowly drew the side of his face up into a laboured wink. "What is the game to-night, Sam?" he asked. Sam stepped to the baggage-room door, handed him the cigar, and began giving directions, pointing into the baggage-room, intent and business- like in the face of the Irishman's laughter. Then, turning, he walked