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Nan Sherwood, like all grandmothers loves their family and having them all around at different times of the year. The most festive season of them all, Christmas time is when everyone comes to visit her. Nan Sherwood's winter Holidays tells the story of the families joyful Christmas holidays and the mischief of the young grandchildren.
One of a series of books about Nan Sherwood by the popular American author.
Nan Sherwood, like all grandmothers loves their family and having them all around at different times of the year. The most festive season of them all, Christmas time is when everyone comes to visit her. Nan Sherwood's winter Holidays tells the story of the families joyful Christmas holidays and the mischief of the young grandchildren. Walter and Grace had started for Chicago that morning, and when the two Tillbury girls saw how hard it was snowing when Charley, with his 'bus on runners, drove them to the station, they wished that they had asked the privilege of Dr. Beulah Prescott, the principal, of going early, too. "This yere's goin' to be a humdinger of a storm," prophesied Charley. "You gals'll maybe get snowed up on the train." "Oh! What fun!" cried the thoughtless Bess. "I hope not!" proclaimed Nan. "I think it would be fun, Nan," urged her chum. "Humph! How about eating?" queried the red-haired girl, Laura Polk, who would be one of the party as far as the Junction. "Oh, there's a dining-car on this train," said May Winslow, who was to speed away to the South to spend Christmas, where there was no ice or snow, and where the darkeys celebrate the holiday with fire-crackers, as Northern people do the Fourth of July. Continue the journey with the whole family including Nan Sherwood! If you enjoy the Christmas spirit and family tales that are always interesting you will enjoy this original classic edition of Nan Sherwood's winter Holiday.
The book "Nan Sherwood's Winter Holidays; Or, Rescuing the Runaways", has been considered important throughout the human history, and so that this work is never forgotten we have made efforts in its preservation by republishing this book in a modern format for present and future generations. This whole book has been reformatted, retyped and designed. These books are not made of scanned copies of their original work and hence the text is clear and readable.
"Ta-ra! ta-ra! ta-ra-ra-ra! ta-rat! Professor Krenner took the silver bugle from his lips while the strain echoed flatly from the opposite, wooded hill. That hill was the Isle of Hope, a small island of a single eminence lying half a mile off the mainland, and not far north of Freeling. The shore of Lake Huron was sheathed in ice. It was almost Christmas time. Winter had for some weeks held this part of Michigan in an iron grip. The girls of Lakeview Hall were tasting all the joys of winter sports. The cove at the boathouse (this was the building that some of the Lakeview Hall girls had once believed haunted) was now a smooth, well-scraped skating pond. Between the foot of the hill, on the brow of which the professor stood, and the Isle of Hope, the strait was likewise solidly frozen. The bobsled course was down the hill and across the icy track to the shore of the island. Again the professor of mathematics— and architectural drawing— put the key-bugle to his lips and sent the blast echoing over the white waste: Ta-ra! ta-ra! ta-ra-ra-ra! ta-rat![...]"
One of a series of books about Nan Sherwood by the popular American author.
Ta-ra! ta-ra! ta-ra-ra-ra! ta-rat! Professor Krenner took the silver bugle from his lips while the strain echoed flatly from the opposite, wooded hill. That hill was the Isle of Hope, a small island of a single eminence lying half a mile off the mainland, and not far north of Freeling. The shore of Lake Huron was sheathed in ice. It was almost Christmas time. Winter had for some weeks held this part of Michigan in an iron grip. The girls of Lakeview Hall were tasting all the joys of winter sports. The cove at the boathouse (this was the building that some of the Lakeview Hall girls had once believed haunted) was now a smooth, well-scraped skating pond. Between the foot of the hill, on the brow of which the professor stood, and the Isle of Hope, the strait was likewise solidly frozen. The bobsled course was down the hill and across the icy track to the shore of the island. Again the professor of mathematics-and architectural drawing-put the key-bugle to his lips and sent the blast echoing over the white waste: Ta-ra! ta-ra! ta-ra-ra-ra! ta-rat!
DOWN PENDRAGON HILL Ta-ra! ta-ra! ta-ra-ra-ra! ta-rat! Professor Krenner took the silver bugle from his lips while the strain echoed flatly from the opposite, wooded hill. That hill was the Isle of Hope, a small island of a single eminence lying half a mile off the mainland, and not far north of Freeling. The shore of Lake Huron was sheathed in ice. It was almost Christmas time. Winter had for some weeks held this part of Michigan in an iron grip. The girls of Lakeview Hall were tasting all the joys of winter sports. The cove at the boathouse (this was the building that some of the Lakeview Hall girls had once believed haunted) was now a smooth, well-scraped skating pond. Between the foot of the hill, on the brow of which the professor stood, and the Isle of Hope, the strait was likewise solidly frozen. The bobsled course was down the hill and across the icy track to the shore of the island. Again the professor of mathematics-and architectural drawing-put the key-bugle to his lips and sent the blast echoing over the white waste: Ta-ra! ta-ra! ta-ra-ra-ra! ta-rat! The road from Lakeview Hall was winding, and only a short stretch of it could be seen from the brow of Pendragon Hill. But the roof and chimneys of the great castle-like Hall were visible above the tree-tops. Now voices were audible-laughing, sweet, clear, girls' voices, ringing like a chime of silver bells, as the owners came along the well-beaten path, and suddenly appeared around an arbor-vitae clump. "Here they are!" announced the professor, whose red and white toboggan-cap looked very jaunty, indeed. He told of the girls' arrival to a boy who was toiling up the edge of the packed and icy slide. Walter Mason had been to the bottom of the hill to make sure that no obstacle had fallen upon the track since the previous day.