United States or Botswana ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Miss Lammie entered in some alarm, and found him fast asleep on his bed, still dressed, with a brown-paper parcel in his arms, and one of his feet evidently enough the source of the frightful stain. She was too kind to wake him, and inquiry was postponed till they met at breakfast, to which he descended bare-footed, save for a handkerchief on the injured foot. 'Robert, my lad, said Mr.
'What for that? 'He's deid. 'Are ye sure? 'Ay, ower sure ower sure, laddie. 'Weel, I dinna believe 't. 'What for that? ''Cause I winna believe 't. I'm no bund to believe 't, am I? 'What's the gude o' that? What for no believe 't? Dr. Anderson's sent hame word o' 't to John Lammie. Och hone! och hone! 'I tell ye I winna believe 't, grannie, 'cep' God himsel' tells me.
'Ay can I, answered Robert, with some pride, and laid the bow on the violin, and played the air through without blundering a single note. 'Weel, that's verra weel, said Mr. Lammie. 'But it's nae mair like as yer gran'father played it, than gin there war twa sawyers at it, ane at ilka lug o' the bow, wi' the fiddle atween them in a saw-pit. Robert's heart sank within him; but Mr.
From a shealing of turf and straw, within the pitch of a bar from the spot where we stood, came out an old woman bent with age, and leaning on a crutch. "I heard the voice of that lad Andrew Lammie; can the chield be drowning that he skirls sae uncannily?" said the old woman, seating herself on the ground, and looking earnestly at the water.
'I s' warran' he cares as little aboot hiz as we care aboot him. There's nae treason noo a-days. I carena wha hears what I say. 'For my pairt, said Mr. Peddie, 'I canna help wonnerin' gin it cud be oor auld frien' Mr. Faukener. 'Speyk o' the de'il said Mr. Lammie. 'Hoot! na, returned Peddie, interrupting. 'He wasna a'thegither the de'il. 'Haud the tongue o' ye, retorted Lammie.
Come awa', Mr. Lammie. Sit doon; sit doon. Whaur hae ye been this mony a day, like a pelican o' the wilderness? Mr. Lammie was a large, mild man, with florid cheeks, no whiskers, and a prominent black eye. He was characterized by a certain simple alacrity, a gentle, but outspeaking readiness, which made him a favourite. 'I dinna richtly mak' oot wha ye are, he answered.
But the pleasure he had been having was of a sort rather to expedite than to delay the subjective arrival of dinner-time. There was, however, happily no occasion to go home in order to appease his hunger; he had but to join the men and women in the barley-field: there was sure to be enough, for Miss Lammie was at the head of the commissariat.
'Miss Letty's compliments, sir, and Miss Naper has the keys, and she's gane till her bed, and we maunna disturb her. And it's time 'at a' honest fowk was in their beds tu. And gin Mr. Lammie wants a bed i' this hoose, he maun gang till 't. An' here's his can'le. Gude nicht to ye a', gentlemen. So saying, Meg set the lighted candle on the sideboard, and finally vanished.
"There are no children at our house," said she. "Poor wee lammie, and you are lonely sometimes," said Graeme. "Yes; when father's gone and mother's sick. Then there's nobody but grandma." "Have you a doll?" asked Menie. "No: I have a kitten, though." "Ah! you must come and play with my doll. She is a perfect beauty, and her name is Flora Macdonald."
Even Bodyfauld seemed to have lost its enchantment, though his friends were as kind as ever. Mr. Lammie went into a rage at the story of the lost violin, and Miss Lammie cried from sympathy with Robert's distress at the fate of his bonny leddy. Then he came to the occasion of his visit, which was to beg Mr.
Word Of The Day