DOA's Answer Key for the Sunday Cipher June 19, 2022

Not quite a Father's Day tale, but My Father's Dragon is the story of a boy's father who meets a cat, and has many adventures, including meeting a dragon.

 

 

 

 

 

One cold rainy day when my father was a little boy, he met an old alley cat on his street. The cat was very drippy and uncomfortable so my father said, "Wouldn't you like to come home with me?"

This surprised the cat, she had never before met anyone who cared about old alley cats—but she said, "I'd be very much obliged if I could sit by a warm furnace, and perhaps have a saucer of milk."

"We have a very nice furnace to sit by," said my father, "and I'm sure my mother has an extra saucer of milk."

My father and the cat became good friends but my father's mother was very upset about the cat. She hated cats, particularly ugly old alley cats. "Elmer Elevator," she said to my father, "if you think I'm going to give that cat a saucer of milk, you're very wrong.  

 

Librariandoa's Cipher Sunday Puzzle June 19, 2022

 This evening's Cipher Sunday puzzle is the first paragraph of a book about a most unusual father. 

 

 

DOA's Cipher Sunday Answer Key for the June 5, 2022 Puzzle

 Wasn't that fun?  I used project Gutenberg, and used their quick search to look for Storytellers.  Since it's campfire season, I liked the look of the Boy Scout's Book of Campfire stories.  The first story, Silverhorns by Henry Van Dyke had a nice, rolling, read aloud rhythm to it.

Here's the text used in the puzzle:

The railway station of Bathurst, New Brunswick, did not look particularly merry at two o'clock of a late September morning. There was an easterly haze driving in from the Baie des Chaleurs and the darkness was so saturated with chilly moisture that an honest downpour of rain would have been a relief. Two or three depressed and somnolent travelers yawned in the waiting room, which smelled horribly of smoky lamps. The telegraph instrument in the ticket office clicked spasmodically for a minute, and then relapsed into a gloomy silence. The imperturbable station master was tipped back against the wall in a wooden armchair, with his feet on the table, and his mind sunk in an old Christmas number of the Cowboy Magazine. The express agent, in the baggage-room, was going over his last week's waybills and accounts by the light of a lantern, trying to locate an error, and sighing profanely to himself as he failed to find it.

 

And the part that didn't fit:

 

A wooden trunk tied with rope, a couple of dingy canvas bags, a long box marked "Fresh Fish! Rush!" and two large leather portmanteaus with brass fittings were piled on the luggage truck at the far end of the platform; and beside the door of the waiting room, sheltered by the overhanging eaves, was a neat traveling bag, with a gun case and a rod case leaning against the wall. The wet rails glittered dimly northward and southward away into the night. A few blurred lights glimmered from the village across the bridge.

 

 

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/26475/26475-h/26475-h.htm