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Reduced even to the lowest terms, a certain interest can be communicated by the art of narrative; a sense of human kinship stirred; and a kind of monotonous fitness, comparable to the words and air of Sandy's Mull, preserved among the infinitesimal occurrences recorded. Some people work, in this manner, with even a strong touch. Mr.
The judge attributed it to Martha Meech's death; for Sandy's genuine grief and his continued kindness to the bereft neighbors confirmed an old suspicion. Mrs. Hollis thought it was malaria, and dosed him accordingly. It was Aunt Melvy who made note of his symptoms and diagnosed his case correctly.
At others Sandy would wait until he had drifted alongside, and then thrust him under with the end of his paddle. He grew weaker. At the end of a half-mile he was drowning. Not until then did Sandy pull him alongside and drag him into the canoe. The dog fell limp and gasping in the bottom. Brutal though Sandy's methods had been, they had worked his purpose.
"You'll find work enough at the school for the regular terms summers you are going to stop with Miss Markham and me and I'll set you to work in my mills. I always set every one I take an interest in, to work in my mills." "Yes, sir." Sandy's eyes were growing "strange" again. Markham was learning to watch for that look. "What's the matter?" he asked on the defensive; "what you thinking about?"
"A ken the penny micht be buyin' a hame," came in a drowsy voice from Sandy's crib. "'Twad be a hame in Aberdeen wi' trees an' flo'ers an' mickle wee creepit things an' Miss Peggie an' us "
A pretty and pert and rowdyish little dancer, she had managed to captivate one or two of the prominent matrons of the club, and was much in evidence there, to the great discomfort of the more conservative Sandy and her intimates. Now Sandy's mother ended the conversation with a few very casual remarks, in not too sympathetic or indignant a vein.
As the talk progressed, John glanced up involuntarily at Little Bel's window. Could it be that he sighed? At any rate, there was no regret in his heart as he shook Sandy's hand warmly, and said: "Ye've my free consent to try; but I doubt she's not easy won. She's her head now, an' her ain way; but she's a good lass, an' a sweet one."
In his downfall he carried his instructor with him, and a deluge of tracts from the table above followed. In the midst of the confusion there was a sound from the church next door. Mr. Meech sat up among the debris and listened. It was the opening hymn for prayer-meeting. The events of the afternoon, stirring as they had been, were soon dismissed from Sandy's mind.
A thirst-parched stranger might have ridden past twenty times on the bench above without suspecting its presence. The faint cattle trail leading to it entered the draw a quarter of a mile away, and led along under low but almost perpendicular banks. Sandy's camp preparations were simple, but much more elaborate than if the night had been clear.
Of course there are all sorts of bones in the cupboard to pass out to the darling, but I'm waiting until she is hungry." And so Cynthia played her part and smiled and dreamed. Things just were! There was no perspective, no contrast the sun was always flooding her hours with the one small, white cloud of Sandy's marked passage in the "Pilgrim's Progress," to sail across her sky now and then.
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