Heyward strolled up to the ball as if he were walking to the corner for a paper.
Heyward suddenly woke up and fired to second base, but too late.
Of course, it practically goes without saying that Heyward is black (Harper is white).
“I see no point in rehashing this so many years later,” Heyward adds.
Heyward tore the weapon of Magua from the sapling, and rushed eagerly toward the fray.
In the meantime Heyward had been pressed in a more deadly struggle.
There was something so commanding in the distress of the old man, that Heyward did not dare to venture a syllable of consolation.
The reader may better imagine, than we describe, the surprise of Heyward.
And you, too, Major Heyward, aid my weak reason with your counsel.
"Then give them their bridles, and let them range the woods," Heyward ventured to suggest.