United States or United Arab Emirates ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
At the first sound of the bare steel I instinctively leaped back from the collision. The next I saw, James parried a thrust so nearly that I thought him killed; and it lowed up in my mind that this was the girl's father, and in a manner almost my own, and I drew and ran in to sever them. "Keep back, Davie! Are ye daft? Damn ye, keep back!" roared Alan. "Your blood be on your ain heid then!"
'What girl are ye thinkin' aboot? 'Ach, I'm dashed wearit, he said. 'I didna sleep a wink last nicht. 'Puir sojer laddie! Her smooth, hot cheek touched his. 'Pit yer heid on ma shouther. . . . I like ye because ye're shy . . . but ye needna be ower shy. Suddenly he gave a foolish laugh and thrust his arm round her waist. She heaved a sigh of content.
Na, na, she kens withoot even turnin' her heid. She kenned by yer verra fit as ye cam' up the yaird. She's maybe stirrin' something i' the pat. She turns roon' wi the pat-stick i' her haund. 'I'll dawtie ye, my man! she says, an' WHANG, afore ye ken whaur ye are, the pat-stick is acquant wi' the side o' yer heid. 'I'll dawtie ye, rinnin' rakin' to the public-hoose wi' yer hard-earned shillin's.
Wadna ye like a row the nicht, my leddy?" "No, certainly; it's much too late." "It'll be nane mirker nor 'tis; but I reckon ye're richt. I cam ower by jist to see whether ye wadna like to gang wi' the boats a bit; but yer leddyship set me aff thinkin' an' that pat it oot o' my heid." "It's too late now anyhow. Come tomorrow evening, and I'll see if I can't go with you."
But oh be a guid lad, for ye're a' that I hae left; and gin ye gang wrang tu, ye'll bring doon my gray hairs wi' sorrow to the grave. They're gray eneuch, and they're near eneuch to the grave, but gin ye turn oot weel, I'll maybe haud up my heid a bit yet. But O Anerew! my son! my son! Would God I had died for thee!
Ye never heard hoo he laid it into them, steekin' his nivs an' layin' aboot him wi' his airms. "Echt thoosand pound!" he roars again. "That's seven shillin's the heid man, woman, and bairn i' the toon o' Arbroath. What d'ye think o' that? But that's no' a'. There's the toon's midden, too; that's needin' a look intil."
I budena come ower them till a young laad like yersel'. They war never said straucht oot, min' ye, but jist mintit at, like, wi' a doon draw o' the broos, an' a wee side shak o' the heid, as gien the body wad say, 'I cud tell ye gien I daur. But I doobt mysel' gien onything was kent, though muckle was mair nor suspeckit. An' whaur there 's reik, there maun be fire."
"I canna get Robbie Burns' graun' words oot o' my heid: 'The Scotsmen staun' an' Irish fa' let him on wi' me," and on this wave of martial spirit Geordie took another plunge at right angles from our previous course, bearing me after him like a skiff tied to a schooner amid stormy seas.
I wiss Mr Turnbull wad tak' it into his heid to preach frae that text sometime afore it comes, which winna be that lang, I'm thinkin'. The wheels'll be stoppin' at my door or lang." "What gars ye think that, Tibbie? There's no sign o' deith aboot you, I'm sure," said Annie. "Weel, ye see, I canna weel say.
Ye micht hae gotten a waur fleg gin I hadna come up, for Mr Beauchamp was takin' the bearin's o' ye throu the window, and whan I gaed up, he slippit awa' like a wraith. There ye lay, wi' yer heid back, and yer mou' open, as gin you and the deid man had been tryin' whilk wad sleep the soun'est. But ye hae ta'en to ither studies sin' syne. Ye hae a freah subject a bonnie young ane.
Word Of The Day