The Little Drummers / Youll Go A-Hunting No More


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Nov 10, Lori Ficwishes rated it it was amazing. A sweet, adorable little boy helps heal a couple's broken hearts. A perfect story just in time for Christmas. Oct 28, Rach Lawrence rated it it was amazing Shelves: , gift-from-author. This story was read as part of a compilation. Following is my review of the entire compilation, including this story. I am not compensated for my honest opinion. They are sweet and enchanting, and will make you a true believer in holiday miracles.

In Mistletoe Magi This story was read as part of a compilation. She has no idea what to get her husband for Christmas. A chance encounter in an elevator could turn everything around. What Child is This? This sweet tale of love and loss will give you hope that even the most difficult situations can be repaired.

In The Little Drummer Boy , a homeless man points Justin Banks in the direction of a little boy in need, and Justin realizes this is the perfect gift for his wife. This is a moving story filled with hopefulness and love. As always, Ms. Logan delivers inspiring stories that are a pleasure to read.

Aug 24, Landon rated it it was amazing. I like it, my brain didn't realize it was a Christmas book until I re-read the description once I started the first chapter. This short story "The Little Drummer Boy, introduces us to a couple who have been trying to start their family without much luck. It also reminds us, readers, to remember what Christmas is all about. Nov 27, Jennifer rated it it was amazing. This short story begins amidst the tiring hustle and bustle of Christmas Eve, a time when many of us are so focused on the quest of finding the right gift for our loved ones that we forget the intended meaning behind the gift exchange.

Yet somehow, we find ourselves repeating the cycle year after year. Justin Banks finds himself in this mode when his mission is interrupted by a man on the street. Homeless, I assume from his appearance. I try not to cringe as he tugs on my designer suit.

He is surprised when he realizes that the homeless man is right. Somewhere nearby the sound of drums can be heard. Each step brings me closer to the beat, until finally, I see a little boy, nestled in the corner. His only light comes from a lantern, and a snare drum rests in his lap. Probably his only possession. Does he live here? In this filthy alley? And where are his parents? His clothes are dirty and ragged, and the faded blue jacket he wears is about three sizes too big. The last thing I want to do is scare the kid. Are you alone? Maybe six. A little stronger this time. A little more determined.

The covered alleyway has thankfully kept most of the snow away, so I find a flattened section of shredded cardboard and sit down. I just sit and listen. Rum pum pum pum. Each rhythmic thump pierces my soul, and when he comes to the end of his song, I reach inside my jacket for my wallet. I gave this story a five star rating on my Goodreads page without hesitation. I highly recommend that you take the time to read this and then pass it along to others as a gift. Many thanks to Sydney Logan for writing and sharing this holiday short. It is the perfect reminder of what this time of year should really be all about.

Jul 20, Tori Tee rated it it was amazing. Well in a nutshell, this book was truly fabulous! And for such a short story it really does pack a punch! Or even make you grateful for the gifts and luxuries you have in your own life. I felt humbled after reading it, but in a proactive and very positive kind of way.

You may be with them for a matter of pages but the raw emotions and story telling are incredibly well written and I truly have not cried so much at a book in a good way! It pulls heavily on the heart strings and really opens your eyes to a multitude of issues in the world today. I can only imagine where Sydney got her inspiration and I found myself feeling ready for the good will and peace to all men that comes hand in hand with the coming season. That being said, I think you should all go take advantage of this book and have a good read because honestly, this book is truly outstanding, and a fabulous little piece of story telling.

Dec 02, M. I read the entire thing on the precipice of shedding many tears. Logan sucks us in from the very first word and keeps us hanging on until the very last. From their history, there's one thing she wants, but is too scared to reach for, but it's not something you can buy in a shopping mall. As he's wandering through the snow, he's distracted by a homeless man who leads him to Luke. A little boy abandoned with just a snare drum and an oil lantern.

From then on in, the reader can guess what is going to happen, but they don't care because the entire thing is so heartwarming. As a mother, I would certainly want this to happen if, for any reason, I could no longer provide for my children. A wonderful story that will warm the heart of any reader at this time of year! It encompasses the meaning of Christmas so sweetly. All that changes the moment that he hears the drumming of a little boy who is homeless and alone on Christmas Eve. Wanting to help such a sweet, scared lonely boy, he takes him home with him. This turns out to be the best gift he could ever give his wife.

Megan is so surprised when her husband takes her to see the sweet homeless boy he came across. She wants nothing more than to give him the love and home he desperately needs and deserves. This is one of those stories that is quick to read but filled with so much good cheer and feeling. Happy Reading… Adri Jun 23, Gina Hott rated it it was amazing. Justin Banks loves his wife, Megan, more than anything. This is an absolute must read. M Justin Banks loves his wife, Megan, more than anything.

Dec 22, Donadees Corner rated it really liked it Shelves: short-stories , christmas. This story is a real fairy tale, if, if only it could be true. There are so many out there that need just this very thing to happen to them. As to the short story it is beautiful and well written. Good characters make it a very good short story. Will Khalil see through Charlie's performance in the "theatre of the real" and kill her before any of this even happens? Does Becker actually care about Charlie or was their relationship a convenient ploy to get her to comply?

The climax came and most of those questions were answered. Charlie stayed on course, delivered the briefcase bomb to Kurtz Michael Shannon and Picton Charles Dance in time for them to execute a controlled explosion and it wasn't until the following day, after Charlie returned to Khalil under instructions to seduce him, that Khalil cottoned on to the fact that he was in the middle of a well constructed ruse. Related Stories. Becker saves the day, Charlie is pulled out of her double life and the Israeli team use the information she gathered to destroy Khalil's network. Bish, bash, bosh.

A very tidy ending for a very elaborate operation that could've gone dramatically wrong at any moment. Which is why some of us were a little confused by The Little Drummer Girl' s seemingly "happily ever after" conclusion. Becker secretly sends Charlie his German address and she visits him, finding him pottering around his garden. Though a bit jumpy and with a pistol stuck in the back of his jeans , he seems happy to see her.

Becker opens his door for Charlie to come inside and the series ends with him following her with a pot of tea he had left on the windowsill. Cute, sure, but was this the right ending for such a dramatic and intentionally challenging series? Part of me expected Charlie to be hunted down by the Palestinians who she had betrayed, another part of me expected Kurtz to push her into another undercover operation upon hearing about a bomb suspiciously similar to Khalil's trademark going off elsewhere in Europe after his death.

But alas, the BBC's ending was far tamer than many of us anticipated. Her face grew fiery red, but her voice was cold.


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I trust you will take steps to punish these savages severely. At this he looked up sharply. You see they are savages, and acted in all good faith. They have given no trouble to the government for many years, though a most savage and war-loving people. This was their atto serve me. But for that they would molest no. I shall, of course, explain the enormity of their transgression, but there can be no question of punishment.

His tone was that of one explaining to a child; but there was in it also a note of defiance, of justification of his savage friends. At his cool reprimand, her eyes blazed. You allow your savages to kidnap me, and then have the effrontery to tell me you will take no action. No doubt the next white woman passing Jinja will be dragged here for your approval! Robinson was most distressed. Under his tan, he paled.

I had no intention. I felt sure you would understand my explanation. The inference against her comprehension goaded her further. She became really angry. Obviously you cherish the feelings of your savages more than you respect those of your own people. I shall see that Sir Godfrey Mallinson attends to this matter. His diffidence had gone. His sunken eyes met hers steadily, with a lurking hint of anger.

But before he could speak, from the town below came a great burst of that wild song the warriors marched to on the journey in, and they saw a column of them, three abreast, debouch from the town and march singing toward the hill. He made no answer, watching silently as more and more warriors came from the kraals till the hillside was black with them. She recognized Wango, her statuesque abductor, at their head. Such was the dignity and sense of innate power about him, the rebuke went surely home.

The Little Drummer Girl by John le Carré

To her disgust, she found no words to save her countenance, and felt her hot blush rise. But before she could marshal her resources, the whole barbaric concourse led by Wango, charged up the hill toward them. It was a magnificent, terrifying spectacle. On they came, with a soft drum of feet that seemed to shake the earth, till they were within ten yards of the tent. Helen was on the point of ignominious. A few paces to their front was Wango more regally barbaric than before, in huge ostrich feather headdress and leopard skin kaross.

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He raised his hand with its sheaf of spears and kerries, and a mighty shout broke from the crowded warriors, ringing out like a thunder-clap. As Helen sat intent and rigid, caught by the glamor of the scene and awed by the savage homage paid to Robinson, it came to her, that somewhere, sometime, she had seen or heard of such a spectacle before, and her mind ran swiftly through her memories, seeking to this conviction. For some moments she had no success, till she remembered the words of the commissioner at Jinja when he described the placing on its pedestal of the idol whose evil-glittering eye had so discomfited her.

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It sounded like the Last Trump With the thought, her heart turned over. She wheeled involuntarily to face her host, at the same time shrinking back and eyeing him with new and fascinated interest. He had pulled one of his incredible shanks across his other knee, holding it with clasped hands, his chin upon his chest, as he gravely regarded the rippling throng of warriors.

Wango now stepped close to him, dropped on one knee and offered the hilt of his broad-bladed stabbing assegai. He touched it, smiling, and rose. Wango rose too, and for an instant they faced each other, the white man and the brown, each in his own way splendid, replete with dignity. Then Wango turned and his eyes sought Helen. Alternating between anger at her impotence and terror at the conviction that fast grew upon her, she eyed him coldly.

With the knowledge, her position whirled into a grim new aspect, and in momentary panic she bolted ignominiously into the tent. Robinson stood and watched them go. Tender, warm, yet infinitely wistful, a little smile was on his lips. Then, catching the mutter of thunder to the eastward, he wheeled sharply and walked to where the tent would not obstruct his rearward view, to stand anxiously searching the sky. HELEN lay in the chair where she had flung herself, and heard the chorus die.

Till then she had not really doubted the honesty of his story. Her anger had been all for his impartial defence of her abductors, and his cool assumption of her acceptance of his point of view. But with her sinister new knowledge came a thousand terrors.

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There was no one there. The sun was down. Nothing but a few pale golden streaks hung low in the westward sky. The earth was bathed in that soft violet afterglow that casts no shadows, and which, for its brief reign, imparts an eerie sense of unreality. Then from behind her came a long, slow, roll of thunder. Turning, she saw Robinson, huge and ungainly, like the gaunt corpse of a blasted tree, etched black against the lurid purple of the sky.

He turned and came toward her. There was a curious impartiality in his regard, which was nevertheless so searching as to intrude upon her mental privacy. There are heavy rains to the eastward. In four hours the river will be up, and the ford will be impassable till it subsides. A rush of cold fear swept her, followed by blind resentment mixed with fury. Her eyes blazed as her chin went up.

His twisting hands fell to his sides. He seemed to sway a moment as his figure drooped, but then with one stride towered above her. She glared up.

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For all that, you are as safe with me as with your brother. I repeat I had no part in what has happened. I am at your service till it is rectified. It must be some days before we can cross the river. Meanwhile, I will leave my camp for your use and live with my—savages—in the kraals. You should have held your tongue; but since you could not, you shall endure my presence for a little time and listen.

She felt her anger ebb again, and sank down on her chair with involuntary obedience. He sat, too, and leaned across the little table till in the violet light she marked the ripe mahogany of his cheeks. Law is not always just. Did they tell you the whole story? A little breathlessly, feeling more like a child than ever, she nodded, the while striving against a growing sense of unreality. It seemed again she dreamed; she sat with a murderer alone in the heart of Africa and discussed his crime with him.

But his voice was very real as he went on. Retief and I were old enemies. He, her father and I were partners once, but I left them when they wanted to run guns and whisky. At first she went on her dignity, cried her independence, but I bore her down. The subtle force of him was all about her. Gun running, under British law, is punishable by life imprisonment. Barstow was old and failing then. Worse than this—for me—she said she did not love me. Barstow lives in peace. His eyes found hers and held them. Then he rose, bowed, with a distant dignity and strode off into the new dark.

Awestruck and breathless she watched his tall white figure fade. For a long time she sat on. She had no anger now, nor fear. A curious sense of peace and of detachment was about her, through which she saw his face; grave, wistful and deadly earnest, and heard his voice. Now the boy brought lights, and just as his black heels disappeared, a flash of lightning split the sky. A mighty crack of thunder broke above her, sending her heart into her mouth at its intensity.

Then there was silence, utter and profound, till the slow patter of heavy raindrops sounded on the canvas, growing ever quicker till with a roar of rain and wind the eastward storm broke full upon the camp. It was a mighty storm. The wind shrieked and howled, and the rain beat like bullets on the canvas of the writhing tent. Crash after rending crash of thunder burst close above her, followed by lightning gleams that threw the tiniest details into momentary sharpness. Between the flashes, she stood tense and terrified in the roaring dark, her hands tight clenched and feeling appallingly along.

Then one side of the tent blew in, flogging furiously till she feared the whole thing would be whipped from over her and swept away. In the inky dark that followed she gazed at where she had seen him, then shrieked involuntarily as a firm clasp found her arm. Yet the shriek was but the outbreak of her overtension, not of her fear of him, for with his touch again that strange calm soothed her.

The uproar prevented any conversation, but the warm grip on her arm remained until, after the manner of tropic storms, all in a breath the tumult died. As the rain-drum dwindled and the drooping canvas of the battered tent flapped wearily, he struck a match, and, shielding it with his hand went to the writing desk and lit the lamp.

The Little Drummer Girl

Then he said,. He stiffened into new attention, peering at her. She looked forlorn and very small by the yellow lamplight, in his grotesque great shirt contrived to fit her, and the sheet swathed round her waist. Then he inclined his head. Mary crouched tremblingly at the bedfoot, terrified by the storm. Helen undressed slowly, but, once in bed, tired out, she slept. SHE awoke to the rhythmic thunder of drums and deep-throated singing from the town, lying and listening to it drowsily. She had now no fear, not since that hand had laid upon her in the darkness.

Her arm burned as she remembered. Becoming very wide awake, she rose and went to the tent door, stepping over Mary as she sprawled at the bedfoot. Down in the kraals a great fire blazed, and implike figures of dancing savages writhed against its redness. Serene in the starlit vault the moon sailed overhead, and a sharp, clean smell of rain-scoured earth refreshed her nostrils. Filling her lungs a few times she was about to drop the flap and retire when on the hilltop to her side she caught a gleam of white and, turning, saw Scaife.

His chin was sunk on his chest, and with hands clasped behind him he paced steadily to and fro, to and fro, in the night.

The Little Drummers / Youll Go A-Hunting No More The Little Drummers / Youll Go A-Hunting No More
The Little Drummers / Youll Go A-Hunting No More The Little Drummers / Youll Go A-Hunting No More
The Little Drummers / Youll Go A-Hunting No More The Little Drummers / Youll Go A-Hunting No More
The Little Drummers / Youll Go A-Hunting No More The Little Drummers / Youll Go A-Hunting No More
The Little Drummers / Youll Go A-Hunting No More The Little Drummers / Youll Go A-Hunting No More
The Little Drummers / Youll Go A-Hunting No More The Little Drummers / Youll Go A-Hunting No More
The Little Drummers / Youll Go A-Hunting No More The Little Drummers / Youll Go A-Hunting No More
The Little Drummers / Youll Go A-Hunting No More The Little Drummers / Youll Go A-Hunting No More

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