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Courtwell. Ri. This is a double honour to us, Sir Francis. I shall want language, but not a friendly hart to entertaine you and your noble kinsman. What my exquisite Cavalier Device! tis to no purpose I see to remove into the Countrey to save charges and be quiet; the whole Citty will come hither if I stay. I have no stomack to my kn't. Fra. I hope, madam, you will be no enemy to my kinsman. Ri.
The visitor's curly yellow hair was bare and his handsome face scarlet with embarrassment. "I er I beg your pardon, Mr. Griffith. I " he stammered. A big hand swung up on his shoulder, and a deep voice, thick and jocular, cut short his apology. "Thash all ri', Cheems. Wash ri' in. Ish on'y ol' Grishsh. Wash ri' in, I shay."
"So?" he answered stolidly. "Indeed you have! Ri is just wild about your cleverness." "Zat is kind of him." "He declares you are quite an authority on European politics. Now you will be able to tell me " "Ach, no! I shall not to-day, please!" interrupted the Baron hurriedly. The heiress seemed disconcerted. "Oh, not if you'd rather not, Lord Tulliwuddle." "Not to-day." "Well!"
She began to sing, too, which was still more painful to hear than her angry words, for she mixed everything up together the oremus of a mass with refrains of loose songs heard in the harbour from wandering sailors. But ri too loo! ri tooral loo! She always stopped short, while her eyes opened wide with a lifeless expression, like those dying flames that suddenly flash out before fading away.
Do. Oh, oh, oh! Ri. The musick at a convocation of Catts upon a witches upsetting is the spheres to this Catterwalling. I will thrust my head into the pillow, as Dametas did in a bush when the beare was a comeing, and then I shanot heare her. Do. Oh, this is a kind of Purgatory for sins of the flesh.
"Yehs knows, damn it, yehs kin have all got, 'cause I'm stuck on yehs, Nell, damn't, I I'm stuck on yehs, Nell buy drinksh damn't we're havin' heluva time w'en anyone trea's me ri' I damn't, Nell we're havin' heluva time." Shortly he went to sleep with his swollen face fallen forward on his chest. The women drank and laughed, not heeding the slumbering man in the corner.
"Das ri'!" cried the man, his face lighting up at the soothing tones of the woman's voice. "Das ri'; I'm goo' f'ler an' w'en any one trea's me ri', I trea's zem ri'! Shee?" "Sure!" cried the women. "And we're not goin' back on you, old man." The man turned appealing eyes to the woman. He felt that if he could be convicted of a contemptible action he would die.
Not a man, woman, or child, within her reach, that did not call her or know of her as "Aunt Ri." "I donno whether I'd best make enny more fire naow or not," she said reflectively; "ef this storm's goin' to last till mornin', we'll come short o' wood, thet's clear."
"I wouldn't hev bleeved they hed so many rags besides what they're wearin'," said Aunt Ri, as sack after sack appeared at her door.
He had made a loom and put up a loom-house for his mother, a floor just large enough to hold the loom, rough walls, and a roof; one small square window, that was all; but if Aunt Ri had been presented with a palace, she would not have been so well pleased.
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