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I told you the truth this time; and you're sure to find that bag. They'll be wonderin' what's become of me at home, sure they will. I got a mother, and she thinks a heap of me, she does. You wouldn't break her heart, mister, by smokin' a poor boy?" "Aw! dry up! you fooled us once, but you can't do it no more. It's the bag, or your hide gets a singein', my fine feller. That'll do for you, now."
"So they are," said Sam'l, almost fiercely. "I kin she's a neat han' at singein' a hen," said Pete. "An' wi' 't a'," said Davit, "she's a snod, canty bit stocky in her Sabbath claes." "If onything, thick in the waist," suggested Jamie. "I dinna see that," said Sam'l.
"Please, sir," she said, entering, "I didn't like to interrupt you, but Miss Lillycrop sent me to say that there was a strange smell of singein' in the 'ouse, an' would Mr Aspel be so kind as to come and try to find out where it was, as she didn't understand such things." "Smell of singeing, child!" exclaimed Aspel, rising at once and putting on his coat and hat.
"So they are," said Sam'l, almost fiercely. "I kin she's a neat han' at singein' a hen," said Pete. "An' wi't a'," said Davit, "she's a snod, canty bit stocky in her Sabbath claes." "If onything, thick in the waist," suggested Jamie. "I dinna see that," said Sam'l.
"So they are," said Sam'l, almost fiercely. "I kin she's a neat han' at singein' a hen," said Pete. "An' wi't a'," said Davit, "she's a snod, canty bit stocky in her Sabbath claes." "If onything, thick in the waist," suggested Jamie. "I dinna see that," said Sam'l.
Lord, he looked like a goose half picked, as if all the quills were gone, but the pin-feathers and down were left, jist ready for singein' and stuffin. He put me in mind of a sick Adjutant, a great tall hulkin' bird, that comes from the East Indgies, a'most as high as a man, and most as knowin' as a Bluenose.
She says too, as she can't well see how a ox can be roasted whole anyway; she says it'll be a awful job gettin' his hair singed off in the first place, an' she just knows they'll expect Hiram to hold him an' twirl him while he's singein'. Then, too, she says as the whole of a ox don't want to be roasted anyhow.
We sorter hate to smell our own hair singein'. We ain't on the prod, but we don't aim to be run off our own range, and that goes as it lies." He rose, flipping his cigarette through the open window, and inquired for freight. They were expecting a binder and a mower. These had not arrived. McHale looked at the date of his bill of lading, and stated his opinion of the railway.
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