Beadle's Dime Novels No. 47: Tim Bumble's Charge — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

; , 10 TIM BUMBLE’S CHARGE. name as were traveling in Italy at the time. Now where are ye, Miss Arty? where are ye now, lady-bird ?”’ he cried, triumphantly, as the child stared with a puzzled face. “Pooh! I don’t care, anyway. I guess it's only one of your make-up stories. But, Bumbledyhum, are the Lattisons really coming to the Grove ?” “Really and for certain,” responded the Trishman ; “and a great family it is, and a great house is the Grove. But they'll give no more parties, for the place is sadly run down—I mane the family is badly give out. There, my mindin’ is done, an’ the net is as good as new. Wait till the first moonlight, Miss Arty. .T'll give you a rockin’ in the boat to go out an’ see us ketch shad. Sure an’ it’s Mr. Richard shall have the first, providin’ it’s the fattest.” . : So saying, the man arose, shook himself like a great dog, and gathered up the net. Arty bothered him a little, running under the meshes, and getting her hair tangled in them, but Bumble was a good-natured fellow, and bore it all with patience, for the child’s interesting face and gleeful laugh showed that she did it more for fan than tole him. By this time Coraline was ready to go home. The house of Mr. Richard Reynolds was situated a quarter of a mile from the river, in front of a beautiful grove. It was of a convenient size, and looked like a gentleman’s residence. From its door-steps could be seen the place called the Grove, and which, for nearly ten years, had been vacant, the family sojourning in Europe. For some months it had been ramored that the Lattisons were about returning, and the premises - through which the three children of Mr. Reynolds had been accustomed to ramble at will—for they gained the good wishes of the housckeeper—were now subjected to the hand of improvement... They were not over-pleased with the expecta- tion of strange faces until they found that some of the occu- pants were of their own age. These were Harrison Lattison, a boy of seventeen, and Anne, his sister, a sweet little blonde, with “epmeesene ft - blue eyes, but a laugh that was worth The Giovehéaws was surrounded by chestnut-trees, and its situation was commandingly beautiful. It had been built by ‘a French refugee seventy years before, and formed a striking comclbooks.com