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'Whose beaux yeux do you think we have in the dining-room? asked Freda. 'I am thure I cannot gueth; perhapth Thir Hugh Prythe's, Miss Nugent lisped. 'Do you call his beaux yeux? Little ferret eyes like his! No; guess again. 'Young Rithe Rithe? 'Wrong again. 'Not Captain Lewith? 'Some one much nearer home.
O, yes, 'a's a civil genteel nobleman enough. 'Took the house for fishing, did he? 'That's what they say, and as it can be for nothing else I suppose it's true. But, in final, his health's not good, 'a b'lieve; he's been living too rithe. The London smoke got into his wyndpipe, till 'a couldn't eat. However, I shouldn't mind having the run of his kitchen. 'And what is his name?
"Itth about time we artht for a rithe in thkrew," said Mr. Skinner to his wife. "He'th ath pleathed ath Punth about the way we got thothe chickth on in the further run pleathed ath Punth he ith." He bent confidentially towards her. "Thinkth it'th that old food of hith," he said behind his hands and made a noise of suppressed laughter in his pharyngeal cavity.... Mr.
"I'm going to take a little trot over to the shingle-bank to have a look round," said the boy, shivering. "I want you to stand by the door to let me out and in." The old man rolled up his sleeves, snatched his cutlass from the corner, whetted it with the easy grace of a bird whetting its beak, and spat on his hands. "Then it's stand by to repel boarders! Rithe away, sir, when you are."
"A sweet morning, my lady," he cried. "And promise of a fair day's work." The boy turned his face to the wall. "Mr. Joy, sir!" "Well, Piper." "There's a man on a horse." "Where?" "Rithe away oop a-top o th' hill over Willingdon on the old drove- road from Lewes." The Parson sprang to his feet. "Sharp work!" he said with a grin at Kit's back. "Well done you, boy!" Kit leapt to the window.
Men heap up more riches than they can enjoy and then groan and rithe under the taxes, the charity given, the envy, the noteriety, the glare, and the glitter, the crowd of fortune-hunters and greedy hangers-on, and the care and anxiety.
"'Unclasp his little arms, says Diamond. 'He thinks I'm his lady-bird. "Just then a whistle sounded rithe away acrost the Weald. Another nearer took it up, and another like partridges callin on a summer's evening. "'Here he comes, says Diamond, glass to his eye. 'Reube, says he, 'there's things good kids such as you are best not seein.
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