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From the quarters of Hop Loy, the Chinese cook, came a grateful odor. "That certainly smells good!" exclaimed Mr. Bellmore. The cowpunchers looked curiously at the drooping figure on the horse that followed Dave. It needed but a glance from their sharp eyes to tell that the man was hurt. Mr. Carson came out. "Well, Dave," he began, "I was just wondering where you were. Are the cattle all right?"
"On account of the rats?" "Rats! What rats?" "The rats that have the island very nearly eaten," said Priscilla. "Sorra the rat ever I saw on Inishbawn, only one that came out in the boat one day along with a sack of yellow meal my da was bringing home from the quay; and I killed it myself with the slap of a loy." "I just thought Peter Walsh was telling me a lie about the rats," said Priscilla.
You will see that the bishop will shortly appear in these parts. He can not let his old enemy dwell in peace, and Peggy will welcome him joyfully. That woman reckons that day a holiday, when she meets an enemy in fight." So, with pleasant converse, we reached Gaston Cheverny's house. Over the gateway was inscribed the arms and motto of the Chevernys, Un Loy, Un Foy, Un Roy.
A gentleman, who in laying out his lawn had occasion to level one of these hillocks, could not prevail upon any of his labourers to begin the ominous work. He was obliged to take a loy from one of their reluctant hands, and began the attack himself.
Arthur Symons, for instance, a great friend of Moore's at that time, is scarcely mentioned, and with reason: he has no part in the form of the book; its plot is not concerned with him. "All artists create only in the image of the things they have seen, reduced to terms of art through their imagination. The paintings of Mina Loy seem to the beholder the strange creations of a vagrant fancy.
Chinese Regard for the Moon and Flowers. A Shin Worshipper. ALAMEDA, CAL., April 5, 1878. We have left San Francisco, and come across the bay to live. The last thing I did there was to go to a Chinawoman's funeral. I saw in the papers that Chun Fa, the wife of Loy Mong, was dead; and he would like to have all the Christian Chinese and their friends come to the funeral. I thought I would go.
The babies seem to be dressed in imitation of the idol in the temple; their tight caps have the same tinsel and trimmings, and the resemblance their little dry faces bear to it is very curious. Next to "Tung Wo," "Sun Loy," and "Kum Lum," come "Witkowski," "Bukofski," "Rowminski," who keep Russian caviar, etc.
"Grub ready, Hop Loy?" demanded one lanky specimen, as he used his blue neck kerchief to remove some of the dust and sweat from his brown face. "It better be!" added another, significantly; while still another said, quietly: "My gal has been askin' me for a long, long time to get her a Chinaman's pig-tail, an' I'm shore goin' t'get one now if I don't have my grub right plenty, an' soon!"
He shaded his eyes with a brown, powerful hand, gazed for an instant toward the approaching cloud of animated and vociferous dust and, turning to a smiling Chinese who stood near, with a pot in his hand, remarked in a slow, musical drawl: "Well Hop Loy, here they are, rip-roarin' an' snortin' from th' round-up!" "Alle samee hungly, too," observed the Celestial with unctious blandness.
"My word, that strong feller, eh?" said Considine. "Burn your mouth, I think it. Now then, Ah Loy, how much you wantee? That plenty, eh?" Ah Loy peered into the tin pannikin with a dejected air, and turned it on one side to show that there wasn't much in it. "Here y'are, then," said his boss. "Have a bit more. We don't come in for a fortune every day. Watch him take it, Mister."
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