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Doo-on't, 'Laddin!" "Don't cry, Marg'ret," said Aladdin, with a gulp. "I'd do more'n that for you, and I can swim a little, too b-better'n I can row." "Oh, 'Laddin," said Margaret, "it's so cold in the water." "Shucks!" said Aladdin, whose teeth had been knocking all night. I'm the captain and you're the builder's daughter" and so she was. "Chrissen 'er, Marg'et.
"I like none that he wad hang roun' my bonnie Marg'et; but then, a cat may look at a king without it being high treason, I wot." A week afterwards Peter thought differently. When John told him honestly how matters stood between him and Margaret he was more angry than when Sandy Beg swore away his whole Dutch cargo.
Its curious content stung the woman walking by her side. What secret of recompense had this poor wretch found? "Your father is here, Lois," she said carelessly, to break the silence. "I saw him at the mill yesterday." Her face kindled instantly. "He's home, Miss Marg'et, yes. An' it's all right wid him.
"Ther' 's places in them alleys 'n' dark holes, Miss Marg'et, like th' openin's to hell, with th' thick smells 'n' th' sights yoh'd see." She went back with a terrible clinging pity to the Gehenna from which she had escaped. The ill of life was real enough to her, a hungry devil down in those alleys and dens.
'Fore I went in, I had the rickets, they say: that's what ails me. 'T hurt my head, they've told me, made me different frum other folks." She stopped a moment, with a dumb, hungry look in her eyes. After a while she looked at Margaret furtively, with a pitiful eagerness. "Miss Marg'et, I think there is something wrong in my head. Did yoh ever notice it?"
Davvit said she'd d'it hersel'. An' a' the time she's correspondin' wi' a yunger ane, an Axworthy tae, 'at she tells Marg'et she likes a hape better. Yer sister's sair affronted to think o' the w'y the fem'ly name's bein' cairted thro' the mire." Belle came out on the veranda, her broad hat in her hand, ready to walk down to the train with me.
The hills, the massed woods, the mist opposed their immovable front, scornfully. Margret did not notice the silent contest until she reached the lane. The girl Lois, sitting in her cart, was looking, attentive, at the slow surge of the shadows, and the slower lifting of the slanted rays. "T' mornin' comes grand here, Miss Marg'et!" she said, lowering her voice.
The very cart, patched as it was, had a snug, cosy look; the masses of vegetables, green and crimson and scarlet, were heaped with a certain reference to the glow of colour, Margret noticed, wondering if it were accidental. Looking up, she saw the girl's brown eyes fixed on her face. They were singularly soft, brooding brown. "Ye 'r' goin' to th' mill, Miss Marg'et?" she asked, in a half whisper.
The very cart, patched as it was, had a snug, cozy look; the masses of vegetables, green and crimson and scarlet, were heaped with a certain reference to the glow of color, Margaret noticed, wondering if it were accidental. Looking up, she saw the girl's brown eyes fixed on her face. They were singularly soft, brooding brown. "Ye'r' goin' to th' mill, Miss Marg'et?" she asked, in a half whisper.
Margret listened, waked reluctantly to the sense of a different pain in the world from her own, lower deeps from which women like herself draw delicately back, lifting their gauzy dresses. "Miss Marg'et!" Her face flashed. "Well, Lois?" "Th' Master has His people 'mong them very lowest, that's not for such as yoh to speak to.
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