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I couldn't stand in my shop day by day, and know that every one was saying, "There's the man whose son ruined Mr. Lott's son-in-law and sold up his home," unless I had done all I could to repair the mischief. I shall ask Mr. Bowles for a full account of what he has lost to you, and if it's in my power, every penny shall be made good. He, thank goodness, seems to have learnt his lesson.
Job Lott, he farmed it for a while; but Miss Lott's father, he was took sick over to Machias, and they moved up to look after him, and nobody's been there since, unless the boys for blueberries. I guess your Pa'll find plenty to do to get things straightened out, and so will the rest of you." "There isn't any 'rest' but me." "Do tell now. Hain't you any Ma?" "No," said Eyebright, sadly.
"What did he answer?" "Said you were a liar." "Oh, he did, did he! What did you reply?" "Asked him to tell me something I didn't know." "Thought that clever, didn't you?" "Not bad." Whatever faults might be laid to Mr. Lott's door, he at least, I concluded, possesssed the virtue of self-control. "Anybody been here?" "Yes." "Who?" "Mr. Kelver Mr. Paul Kelver." "Kelver, Kelver. Who's Kelver?"
This picture was first called "Landscape," and it was painted in 1821. In his letters about it, however, Constable also called it "Noon," and others wrote of it as "Midsummer Noon." This tells us what a wealth of hot sunlight is suggested by the painting. It shows a little farmhouse upon the bank of a stream, a spot well known as "Willy Lott's Cottage."
"Don't be ungrateful and look thin on it." Outside the door I heard Mr. Lott's shrill voice demanding to know where postage stamps were to be found. "At the Post-office," was Minikin's reply. The hours were long in fact, we had no office hours; we got away when we could, which was rarely before seven or eight but my work was interesting.
Lott's countenance waxed so grim that one would have thought him about to break into wrath against the speaker. But it was merely his way of disguising a pleasant emotion. 'I don't think most men would see it in that way, he remarked gruffly. 'Whether they would or not, exclaimed Mr.
That it was the only one he'd got, and that he didn't want to expose it to shocks. Wouldn't have mattered so much if it hadn't been one of the ugliest men in London." I murmured my indignation. "I put up with him. Nobody else would. The poor fellow must live." I expressed admiration at Mr. Lott's humanity. "You don't mind work?
"Young Mistuh Hollister I should say, Suh," says he. "Well, well!" says I, gawpin' at him. "You lookin' for Robin Hollister too? Why, so am I!" "Then we ought to find him between us, hadn't we?" says he, smilin' friendly. "Lott's my name, Suh." "Wha-a-at!" says I, grinnin' broad as the combination strikes me. "Not Uncle Noah Lott?"
His daughter looked at him. She had a comely face, with no little of the paternal character stamped upon it; her knitted brows and sullen eyes bespoke a perturbed humour, and her voice was only just audible. 'Yes, we are moving, father. Mr. Lott's heavy footfall crossed the floor. He planted himself before her, his hands resting on his stick. 'What's the matter, Jane? Where's Bowles?
'I'm sorry to say it doesn't at all surprise me, answered Mr. Daffy, who perceived that the speaker was Mr. Lott's son-in-law. 'But I can't sympathise with you very much. If you have dealings with a book-maker 'A blackleg, a blackleg! shouted Bowles. He's bled me, the brute! He tempted me on and on Look here, Mr. Lott, I know as well as you do that I've been an infernal fool.
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