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Download The Yearling free in PDF & EPUB format. Download Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings's The Yearling for your kindle, tablet, IPAD, PC or. The Yearling by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings; 40 editions; First published in ; Subjects: DAISY for print-disabled Download ebook for print-disabled (DAISY). Read "The Yearling" by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings available from Rakuten Kobo. The Book Thief: Enhanced Movie Tie-in Edition ebook by Markus Zusak . ISBN: ; Language: English; Download options: EPUB 2 (Adobe.


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Title: The Yearling () Author: Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, * A Be sure to check the copyright laws for your country before downloading or This eBook is made available at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. tetraedge.info: The Yearling eBook: Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings: Kindle Store. Look inside this book. The Yearling by [ Rawlings, Marjorie Kinnan]. The Yearling Kindle Edition. by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings . Download Audiobooks · Book. Editorial Reviews. tetraedge.info Review. Fighting off a pack of starving wolves, wrestling Download it once and read it on your Kindle device, PC, phones or tablets. # in Teen & Young Adult Nature & the Natural World Fiction eBooks .

Enter your mobile number or email address below and we'll send you a link to download the free Kindle App. Then you can start reading Kindle books on your smartphone, tablet, or computer - no Kindle device required. To get the free app, enter your mobile phone number. Would you like to tell us about a lower price? No novel better epitomizes the love between a child and a pet than The Yearling. Young Jody adopts an orphaned fawn he calls Flag and makes it a part of his family and his best friend.

Solomon Northup. Suzanne Collins. The Hunger Games: Special Edition. Someone Knows My Name: A Novel. Lawrence Hill. The Phantom Tollbooth. Norton Juster. Nancy Drew The Hidden Staircase. Carolyn Keene. Lady Audley's Secret. Mary Elizabeth Braddon. Island of the Blue Dolphins. Scott O'Dell. Winnie the Pooh. Ernest H. Tales of the Jazz Age. Three Sisters. Anton Checkhov. The Complete Emily Starr Trilogy: Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Little House in the Big Woods. Laura Ingalls Wilder. Their Eyes Were Watching God. Zora Neale Hurston. The Martian. Andy Weir. I Am Malala. Malala Yousafzai. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. The Thirty-nine Steps. John Buchan. An Incomplete and Unreliable Guide. We Were Liars. He crashed through the black-jacks in the direction from which the sounds had come. His father's voice spoke, close at hand.

Old Julia stood trembling, not in fear but in eagerness. His father stood looking down at the crushed and mangled carcass of black Betsy, the brood sow. The sight of the mutilated sow sickened him.

His father was looking beyond the dead animal. Old Julia had her sharp nose turned in the same direction. Jody walked a few paces and examined the sand. The unmistakable tracks made his blood jump.

They were the tracks of a giant bear. And from the print of the right front paw, as big as the crown of a hat, one toe was missing. They bent together and studied the signs and the direction in which they had both come and gone. He had the wind in his favor. Don't you think he didn't know what he was doin'. He slipped in like a shadow and done his meanness and slipped out afore day. A chill ran along Jody's backbone. He could picture the shadow, big and black as a shed in motion, moving among the black-jacks and gathering in the tame and sleeping sow with one sweep of the great clawed paw.

Then the white tusks followed into the backbone, crushing it, and into the warm and palpitating flesh. Betsy had had no chance even to squeal for help.

A bear's stomach is shrunk when he first comes outen his winter bed. That's why I hate a bear. A creetur that kills and eats what he needs, why, he's jest like the rest of us, makin' out the best he kin. But an animal, or a person either, that'll do harm jest to be a-doin'—You look in a bear's face and you'll see he's got no remorse. Jody knew that he should feel badly about old Betsy, but all that he could feel was excitement. The unwarranted kill, inside the sanctuary of the Baxter acres, had made a personal enemy of the big bear that had evaded all the stock owners for five years.

He was wild to begin the hunt. He acknowledged to himself, as well, a trace of fear. Old Slewfoot had struck close to home. He took one hind leg of the sow and Penny the other. They dragged it to the house with Julia reluctant at their heels. The old bear-dog could not understand why they did not set out at once on the chase. Oh dear goodness, oh dear goodness—my sow, my sow. She threw her arms toward the sky. Penny and Jody passed through the gate and back of the house. She followed, wailing.

The three had already appeared, nosing about the fresh smell of the blood. She threw a stick in their direction. The family went to the house. In the confusion, Jody went first into the kitchen, where the smell of breakfast tortured him.

His mother could not be too disturbed to notice what he was doing. He joined his father at the water-shelf. Breakfast was on the table. Ma Baxter sat, swaying her body in distress, and did not eat. Jody heaped his plate. There were grits and gravy, hot cakes, and buttermilk. Say 'huntin'' and he's quick as a otter. She went to the kitchen safe and took out one of the few remaining glasses of jelly.

She spread the jelly on the leftover stack of hot cakes and tied them in a piece of cloth and dropped them in Penny's knapsack. She took the remains of the sweet potato pone and set aside a piece for herself, then added the pone, wrapped in a fragment of paper, to the knapsack.

She looked again at the pone she had saved, and with a quick motion dropped it in the sack with the other. The meat, dry-cured for the feeding of the dogs, hung in the smoke-house. Jody ran to it and swung open the heavy timbered door. The smoke-house was dark and cool, odorous with the smell of hams and bacons, dusty with the ash of hickory. The rafters, studded with square-headed nails for the hanging of meats, were now almost bare. Three shoulders of ham hung, lean and withered, and two bacon sides.

A haunch of jerked venison swung beside the smoked alligator meat. Old Slewfoot had indeed done damage.

Betsy the brood-sow would have filled the room with her plump progeny by the coming fall. Jody hacked away a piece of alligator. The meat was dry but tender. He touched his tongue to it. Its saltiness was not unpleasing. He joined his father in the yard. At sight of the old muzzle-loading shotgun, Julia lifted her voice in a wail of delight. Rip shot from under the house to join her. Perk, the new feice, wagged his tail stupidly and without understanding.

Penny patted the dogs in turn. Hit'll be rough goin', places. It seemed to Jody that he would burst if there was further delay. He dashed in to his room and routed out his heavy cowhide brogans from under the bed. He slipped his feet into them and raced after his father as though the hunt would be done and over before he reached him. Old Julia was loping ahead, her long nose against the trail of the bear.

Reckon he won't be gone too fur yonder to ketch up with him? A bear that knows he's follered moves a sight faster'n one that figgers the world's his own, to prowl and feed in.

The trail led south through the black-jacks. After the rain of the afternoon before, the great nubbed tracks made a plain pattern across the sand. The black-jacks ended as though they had been sown by hand and there had been no more seed in the sack. The land was lower and the growth was of large pines. He ain't full weight right now, account of his stomach bein' shrunk up from layin' up, and empty. But look at that track.

Hit's sizable enough to prove him. And look at the way it's deeper at the back. A deer track'll prove the same. A deer or bear that's fat and heavy'll sink in that-a-way.

A leetle ol' light doe or yearlin' 'll walk tippy-toed, and you'll not see more than the front of their hooves. Oh, he's big. I'm fearful, always, for the pore dogs. They're the scapers gits the worst of it. They walked in silence. Old Julia moved certainly.

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Rip the bulldog was content to follow at her heels, snuffing where she snuffed, stopping when she hesitated. She blew through her soft nose when the grasses tickled it. The feice made dashes to one side or another and once tore wildly after a rabbit that bolted from under his nose.

Jody whistled after him. Iffen that's his notion, we kin mebbe slip around and surprise him. Some understanding came to Jody of the secret of his father's hunting.

The Forresters, he thought, would have plunged after old Slewfoot the moment they had found his kill. They would have shouted and bellowed, their pack of dogs would have bayed until the scrub echoed with it, for they encouraged them in it, and the wary old bear would have had full warning of their coming.

His father got game, ten to their one. The little man was famous for it. A wild creetur's quicker'n a man and a heap stronger. What's a man got that a bear ain't got? A mite more sense. He cain't out-run a bear, but he's a sorry hunter if he cain't out-study him. The pines were becoming scattering.

There was suddenly a strip of hammock land, and a place of live oaks and scrub palmettos. The undergrowth was thick, laced with cat-briers. Then hammock, too, ended, and to the south and west lay a broad open expanse that looked at first sight to be a meadow. This was the saw-grass. It grew knee-deep in water, its harsh saw-edged blades rising so thickly that it seemed a compact vegetation. Old Julia splashed into it.

The rippling of the water showed the pond. A gust of air passed across the open area, the saw-grass waved and parted, and the shallow water of a dozen ponds showed clearly.

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Penny watched the hound intently. The treeless expanse seemed to Jody more stirring than the shadowy forest. At any moment the great black form might rear itself high. The hound splashed in a zigzag trail where solid ground edged the saw-grass. Here and there the scent was lost in the water. Once she dipped her head to lap, not in thirst, but for the very taste of the trail. She moved confidently down the middle of the pond.

Rip and Perk found their short legs too deep in muck for comfort. They retreated to higher ground and shook themselves, watching Julia anxiously. Perk barked shortly, and Penny slapped him, for quiet. Jody stepped cautiously behind his father. A blue heron flew low over him without warning, and he started.

The pond water was cold an instant against his legs, his breeches were clammy, the muck sucked at his shoes. Then the water was comfortable, and it was good to walk in the wet coolness, leaving sandy whirlpools behind.

He pointed to the flat arrow-shaped leaves. Edges showed jagged tooth-marks. Others were bitten clear of the stalk. A bear'll make for it first thing, time he comes out in the spring. That's how come him to have appetite for a nip o' pore old Betsy. The hound too paused. The scent lay now, not underfoot, but on the reeds and grasses where the strong-smelling fur had brushed.

She laid her long nose against a bulrush and stared into space, then, satisfied as to direction, splashed due south at a lively pace. Penny spoke now freely. He'll snort and shuffle, and splash and grunt.

He'll rip them leaves offen the stems and cram 'em in his ugly ol' mouth like a person. Then he'll nose along and chaw, like a dog chawin' grass. And the night-birds cryin' over him, and the bull-frogs hollerin' like nigger-dogs, and the mallards callin' 'Snake! It goes agin me to crack down at sich a time.

Or when creeturs is matin'. Now and agin, when it was git meat or the Baxters go hongry, I've done what I've no likin' to do. And don't you grow up like the Forresters, killin' meat you got no use for, for the fun of it. That's evil as the bears. You hear me? The red bay thicket seemed impenetrable. This land of sudden changes gave good cover for the game. Old Slewfoot in his careless feeding had never been far from shelter. The bay saplings stood as close together as the palings of a stockade.

Jody wondered how the bear had managed to work his bulk among them. But here and there the saplings thinned, or were young and limber, and he could see, plainly marked, a common trail. Other creatures had used it. Tracks crossed and crisscrossed. Wild-cat had followed deer, lynx had followed wild-cat, and all about were the paw-prints of the small things, 'coons and rabbits and 'possums and skunks, feeding cautiously aside from their predatory kin.

He clucked to Julia to wait for him. She lay down knowingly to rest and Rip and Perk dropped willingly beside her. Jody had been carrying the powder horn over his shoulder.

Penny opened it and shook a measure of powder down the muzzle. From his shot-bag he pulled a wisp of dried black Spanish moss, inserted it for wadding, and packed it with the ramrod.

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He dropped in a measure of low-mould shot, more wadding, and at the last, a cap, and used the ramrod lightly again. The morning's trailing had been a leisurely business, a pleasant jaunting rather than a hunt. Now the dark bay thicket closed in over their heads, jorees flew from the denseness with an alarming whir of wings, the earth was soft and black, and there were scurryings and rustlings on either side in the bushes.

On the trail, a bar of sunlight lay occasionally where the thicket parted. The scent, for all the comings and goings, was not confused, for the taint of bear hung heavy in the leafy tunnel. The short fur of the bulldog stood on end. Old Julia ran swiftly. Penny and Jody were forced to stoop to follow.

Penny swung the muzzle-loader in his right hand, its barrel tipped at an angle, so that if he stumbled and the charge went off, he would not touch the running dogs before him. A branch crashed behind and Jody clutched at his father's shirt. A squirrel ran chattering away.

The Yearling

The thicket thinned. The ground dropped lower and became a swamp. The sunlight came through in patches as big as a basket. There were giant ferns here, taller than their heads. One lay crushed where the bear had moved across it. Its spiced sweetness lay heavy on the warm air. A young tendril sprang back into an upright position. Penny pointed to it. Slewfoot, Jody understood, had passed not many minutes before.

Old Julia was feverish. The trail was food and drink. Her nose skimmed the damp ground. A scrub jay flew ahead, warning the game, and crying "Plick-up-wha-a-a. The swamp dipped to a running branch no broader than a fence post. The print of the nubbed foot spanned it. A water moccasin lifted a curious head, then spun down-stream in smooth brown spirals. Across the branch, palmettos grew.

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The great track continued across the swamp. Jody noticed that the back of his father's shirt was wet. He touched his own sleeve. It was dripping. Suddenly Julia bayed and Penny began to run.

Sound filled the swamp. Saplings crashed. The bear was a black hurricane, mowing down obstructions. The dogs barked and bayed. The roaring in Jody's ears was his heart pounding. A bamboo vine tripped him and he sprawled and was on his feet again. Penny's short legs churned in front of him like paddles. Slewfoot would make Juniper Creek before the dogs could halt him at bay. A clear space opened at the creek's bank. Jody saw a vast black shapeless form break through.

Penny halted and lifted his gun. On the instant, a small brown missile hurled itself at the shaggy head. Old Julia had caught up with her enemy.

She leaped and retreated, and in the moment of retreat, was at him again. Rip darted in beside her. Slewfoot wheeled and slashed at him. Julia flashed at his flank. Penny held his fire.

He could not shoot, for the dogs. Old Slewfoot was suddenly, deceptively, indifferent. He seemed to stand baffled, slow and uncertain, weaving back and forth. He whined, like a child whimpering. The dogs backed off an instant. The moment was perfect for a shot and Penny swung his gun to his shoulder, drew a bead on the left cheek, and pulled the trigger.

A harmless pop sounded. He cocked the hammer again and pulled the trigger once more. The sweat stood out on his forehead. Again the hammer clicked futilely. Then a black storm broke. It roared in on the dogs with incredible swiftness.

White tusks and curved claws were streaks of lightning across it. It snarled and whirled and gnashed its teeth and slashed in every direction.

The dogs were as quick. Julia made swift sorties from the rear, and when Slewfoot wheeled to rake at her, Rip leaped for the hairy throat. Jody was in a paralysis of horror. He saw that his father had cocked the hammer again and stood half-crouching, licking his lips, fingering the trigger. Old Julia bored in at the bear's right flank. He wheeled, not on her, but on the bulldog at his left. He caught him sideways and sent him sprawling into the bushes.

Again Penny pulled the trigger. The explosion that followed had a sizzling sound, and Penny fell backward. The gun had back-fired. Rip returned to his attempts for the bear's throat and Julia took up her worrying from the rear. The bear stood again at bay, weaving. Jody ran to his father. Penny was already on his feet. The right side of his face was black with powder. Slewfoot shook free of Rip, whirled to Julia and caught her to his chest with his cupped claws.

She yelped sharply. Rip hurled himself at the back and buried his teeth in the hide. Penny ran desperately into the heart of the fracas. He jammed the gun-barrel in the bear's ribs. Even in her pain, Julia had taken a grip on the black throat above her.

Slewfoot snarled and turned suddenly and plunged down the bank of the creek and into the deep water. Both dogs kept their hold. Slewfoot swam madly. Only Julia's head showed above water, below the bear's snout. Rip rode the broad back with bravado. Slewfoot made the far bank and scrambled up its side. Julia loosed her hold and dropped limply on the earth.

The bear plunged toward the dense thicket. For a moment more Rip stayed with him. Then, confused, he too dropped away and turned back uncertainly to the creek. He snuffed at Julia and sat down on his haunches and howled across the water. There was a crashing in the distant undergrowth, then silence. Rip wagged his stumpy tail and did not stir. Penny lifted his hunting horn to his lips and blew caressingly.

Jody saw Julia lift her head, then fall back again. He slipped off his shoes and slid down the bank into the water. He struck out strongly. A few yards from shore the current laid hold of him as though he were a log and shot him down-stream at a fierce clip. He struggled against it, fighting for distance. Jody saw him stagger to his feet far down the run, wipe the water from his eyes and push his way back up the shore to his dogs.

He leaned to examine the hound, then gathered her under one arm. This time he went some distance up-stream before taking to the creek. When he dropped into the water, stroking with his free arm, the current picked him up and deposited him almost at Jody's feet.

Rip paddled behind him, landed and shook himself. Penny laid the old hound down gently. He took off his shirt and trussed the dog in it. He tied the sleeves together to make a sling and hoisted it on his back.

The hammer's loose on the cylinder. I knowed that. I been havin' to cock it two-three times right along. But when it back-fired, that belongs to mean the main-spring's got weak. Well, le's git goin'. You tote the blasted ol' gun.

Suddenly Jody could not endure the sight of the limp bundle in front of him.

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There were tricklings of blood down his father's thin bare back. Go ahead. Jody—take the knapsack. Git you some bread. Eat a bite, boy. You'll feel better. Jody fumbled blindly in the sack and pulled out the parcel of pancakes. The brierberry jelly was tart and cool on his tongue.

He was ashamed to have it taste so good. He bolted several of the cakes. He handed some to his father. A whine sounded in the bushes. A small cringing form was following them.

It was Perk, the feice. Jody kicked at him in a fury. There's dogs is bear-dogs and there's dogs jest isn't bear-dogs. The feice dropped in at the end of the line. Jody tried to break trail, but fallen trees lay, thicker than his body, and would not be stirred.

Bull-briers, tougher than his father's muscles, snared him, and he could only push his way around them or crawl beneath. Penny with his burden had to shift for himself. The swamp was close and humid. Rip was panting. The pancakes lay soothingly in Jody's belly. He reached in the knapsack for the sweet potato pone.

His father refused his share and Jody divided it with Rip. The little feice, he thought, deserved nothing. It was good to clear the swamp at last and come into the open pine woods. Even the scrub that followed after for a mile or two seemed light and penetrable. Pushing through the low scrub oaks, the scrub palmettos, the gallberry bushes and the ti-ti was less laborious than crossing the swamp. It was late afternoon when the high pines of Baxter's Island showed ahead.

The procession filed down the sand road from the east and into the clearing. Rip and Perk ran ahead to the hollowed cypress watering trough kept for the chickens. Ma Baxter sat rocking on the narrow veranda, a mound of mending in her lap. She rose quickly to help. Jody was always amazed at the capability of her great frame and hands when there was trouble.

Penny laid old Julia down on the veranda floor. She whimpered.

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Jody bent to stroke her head and she bared her teeth at him. He trailed his mother disconsolately. She was tearing an old apron into strips. Penny returned to the veranda with an armful of crocus sacks to make a bed for the hound.

Ma Baxter brought the surgical equipment. Penny unwrapped his blood-soaked shirt from the dog and bathed the deep gashes. Old Julia made no protest. She had known claws before. He sewed the two deepest cuts and rubbed pine gum into all of them.

She yelped once and then was silent as he worked. A rib, he said, was broken. He could do nothing for that, but if she lived, it would mend. She had lost much blood.

Her breath came short. Penny gathered her up, bed and all. I'll do for her what's got to be done, but I'll not have you poppin' in and outen the bed all night, wakin' me.

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The yearling , Franklin Library. The Yearling June , Franklin Watts. The yearling , Scribners. The yearling.: Decorations by Edward Shenton. The yearling , C. Scribner's Sons. Scribner's sons. The yearling. The yearling Publish date unknown, Collier Books.

The yearling Publish date unknown, Scribner's. History Created October 17, 17 revisions Download catalog record: Libraries near you: WorldCat Library.