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If you it will zell, I s'all be mos' happy to buy, eh?" "Certainly, if it is against the rule to keep it; but that seems queer!" "But no, it ees quite right, you zee? Ze collecziones mus' be for ze college all no private ones; it will not do." "Yes, I see; all must work for the general good when making a collection." "Yes, yes, it ees so."
I s'all investigade doze ting; an', Manuel Mazaro, h-I am a hole man; bud I will requez you, iv dad wad you say is nod de true, my God! not to h-ever ritturn again ad de Café des Exilés." Mazaro smiled and nodded.
At that Essy's face began to shake piteously. Standing by the door, she cried quietly, with soft sobs, neither hiding her face nor drying her tears as they came. "You had better tell me," said the Vicar. "I s'all nat tall yo'," said Essy, with passionate determination, between the sobs. "You must." "I s'all nat I s'all nat." "Hiding it won't help you," said the Vicar. Essy raised her head.
Yo're afraid o' mae, Ally, because yo've 'eard I haven't always been as sober as I might bae; but yo're nat 'aalf as afraid o' mae, droonk or sober, as yo' are of yore awn faather. Yo' dawn't think I s'all bae 'aalf as 'ard an' crooil to yo' as yore faather is. She doosn't, Mr. Cartaret, an' thot's Gawd's truth." "I protest," said the Vicar. "Yo' stond baack, sir. It's for 'er t' saay."
"Is this is this what I should wear?" she asked timidly. "Am I not as you wish?" It would have taken a hard heart to wish her otherwise. "It's very pretty," said Cousin Jane in quick reassurance. "Too pretty, s'all," said Cousin Ruth. "But it won't be wasted. .
Do yo' aassk mae t' marry Assy now? Naw! Assy may rot for all yo' care. But do yo' suppawss I'd 'a' doon it fer yore meddlin'? Naw! "You are not going to be asked," said Gwenda. "You are not going to marry her." "Gwenda," said the Vicar, "you will be good enough to leave this to me." "It can't be left to anybody but Ally." "It s'all be laft to her," said Greatorex.
"If that's your errand," said the horse-setter, "ye s'all hae the swiftest foot in my aught to help you on, and I redde you no to spare the spur, for I'm troubled to think ye may be owre late Satan, or they lie upon him, has been heating his cauldrons yonder for a brewing, and the Archbishop's thrang providing the malt.
Simultaneously the pickle squirted, and about a quarter of a pint of the acid juice struck Morris Perlmutter in the right eye. "Excuse me," Abe cried. "Excuse me." "S'all right," Morris replied. "I seen what you was doing and I should of ordered an umbrella instead of a glass of water already." Abe laughed uproariously. "Dill pickles is uncertain like Paris fashions," he commented.
Many a night I've thought o' t' words on my little Wesley tea-pot, and just said 'em softly, down in my heart, 'In God we trust. But tonight I hev put a bit o' holly all around it, and I hev filled it full o' t' freshest greens and flowers I could get, and I s'all stand boldly up before it, and say out loud 'In God we trust!"
Jim intimated that if it was his wedding day it was no business of Blenkiron's. "Wall," said the blacksmith, "ef they dawn't gie yo' soom roough music to-morra night, it'll bae better loock than yo' desarve t' two o' yo'." Greatorex scowled at his kinsman. "Look yo' 'ere, John Blenkiron, I warn yo'. Any man in t' Daale thot speaaks woon word agen my wife 'e s'all 'ave 'is nack wroong."
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