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"Na, there's some cods' amo' them; but they're maistly haddicks'. I pikes them out afore they're sautit, an' biles them; an' syne I polish them i' my han's till they're rale bonny." "Can ye tell me onything about the mad laird, Phemy?" asked Malcolm, in his anxiety too abruptly.
"Ay," answered the child, without looking up. The manner was not courteous, but her voice was gentle and sweet. "What are ye doin' there?" he asked. "Makin' a string o' beads, to weir at aunty's merriage." "What are ye makin' them o'?" he went on. "Haddicks' een." "Are they a' haddicks'?"
No Swede or Richelieu had dreamt of co-operating; Haddick, in the end, was scarce 4,000 with four cannon; General Rochow, Commandant of Berlin, with his small garrison, had not Haddick skilfully slidden through woods, and been so magnified by rumor, might have marched out, and beaten a couple of Haddicks.
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