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The farmer's wife next door." An exclamation from the other caused him to look up. Reggie Byng was staring at him, wide-eyed. "Great Scott! Mrs. Platt! Then you're the Chappie?" George found himself unequal to the intellectual pressure of the conversation. "The Chappie?" "The Chappie there's all the row about. The mater was telling me only this morning that you lived here."
We couldn't help getting a little mixed up with Scott even here, at the gate of the Crockett country; and there were traces of Burns too, because of our being near already to Dumfries, where he lived for years and finally died. But the idea Sir S. had set his heart upon was for us to come back to Dumfries after we had seen Galloway and had run up to Burns's birthplace at Ayr.
Thus, while the Scotch are proud of Scott, as they well may be, while he has among his own people most intense and enthusiastic admirers, the proportion of those who yield to his genius a cold and reluctant homage is probably greater in Scotland than in any other country in Christendom.
"Great Scott!" breathed Arkwright, appreciatively. "Yes. Well, the letter was signed 'Billy. They took her for a boy, naturally, and after something of a struggle they agreed to let 'him' come. For his particular delectation they fixed up a room next to Bertram with guns and fishing rods, and such ladylike specialties; and William went to the station to meet the boy." "With never a suspicion?"
One of the best-known stories of this picturesque figure of early English times is that given by Sir Walter Scott in "Ivanhoe," concerning the archery contest during the rule or misrule of Prince John, in the absence of Richard from the kingdom.
The Athens people were looking to Street's return for news from headquarters, but already several days had gone by since the wedding and they had heard nothing. The men looked up and nodded as Scott entered and Mrs. Van Zandt, peering in from the kitchen through a square hole which served as a means of communication, brought him his coffee. Mrs.
It was little Di who spoke, but her father said that the idea was preposterous. "Pardon me, Sir Richard," said Mr Seaward, "this happens to be my night for preaching in the common lodging-house where Mr Scott says poor Sam is staying. If you choose to accompany me, there is nothing to prevent your little daughter going.
"Not right now; I'm going to think it over," said the girl, coolly. "I think you should have known that I wouldn't do a thing like that." "Well, I did know it, of course," confessed Scott, helplessly. "But " "But you didn't believe it." Polly's voice was cutting. "Well, next time have a little more faith in your friends, Mr. Scott," and the blanketed figure disappeared into the house.
Scott was not allowed to leave his cart-work, but his letter was duly forwarded to the Government, and he had the consolation, not rare in India, of knowing that another man was reaping where he had sown. That also was discipline profitable to the soul. "He's much too good to waste on canals," said Jimmy. "Any one can oversee coolies.
Scott and Fanny both had played with negro children, both had been reared by negro mammies.
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