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"What could I do for you if you did not let me know! I'm so sorry, Walter!" "Why should you be sorry? You can do with me as you please!" "I don't know about such things. I don't quite know what you mean, or what you want. I will be as kind to you as I can while you stay with us." "But, Lufa I may call you Lufa?" "Yes, surely! if that is any comfort to you."
Then, close behind one another, they go under the table, and when they come out at the other end, Father and Grandfather have turned into little boys, and Mother and Grandmother have turned into little girls. While this is happening the brownies and fairies come out of the box and basket. Oh, Jolly! cries WALTER. Is this you, grandfather?
Rachel held up her printed appeal, where subscriptions were invited to the address of F. U. L. E., the Homestead, Avonmouth. "Miss Curtis, though you are not Scottish, you ought to be well read in Walter Scott." "I have thought it waste of time to read incorrect pictures of pseudo-chivalry since I have been grown up," said Rachel. "But that has nothing to do with it."
He answered to the name of Roderick; for Frank had read Sir Walter Scott's "Lady of the Lake," and, admiring the character of the rebel chieftain, had named his favorite after him. Perhaps the name was appropriate, for the animal sometimes showed a disposition to rebel against lawful authority, especially when any one besides Frank attempted to put a saddle or bridle on him.
"There are two things scarce matched in the universe," said Walter to Blount "the sun in heaven, and the Thames on the earth." "The one will light us to Greenwich well enough," said Blount, "and the other would take us there a little faster if it were ebb-tide."
It will give you the strength you want so much; and then, to my mind, some wine and water will help to make it go further than it would otherwise do." Walter very willingly did as the mate advised, and ate the biscuit and beef with more appetite than he had felt since they had been on the raft. The mate then handed him a cup of wine, which he had diluted with water.
It is one labyrinth of gigantic arches and dilapidated halls, the ivy growing and clinging wherever it can fasten its roots, and the whole as fine a picture of decay as imagination could create. This was the favourite resort of Sir Walter Scott, and furnished him much matter for the "Lay of the Last Minstrel."
When, however, a man has been seated on such a lofty pinnacle as was Sir Walter Scott, we wish to know something of his personal traits, and the steps by which he advanced to fame. Was he overrated, as most famous men have been? What is the niche he will probably occupy in the temple of literary fame? What are the characteristics of his productions?
She had come to the end of her picture-making, and could only pretend that there was something amusing the matter with the arm of her chair. She supposed that Mildred's Mr. Russell had forgotten Walter by this time. "I'm not even an intimate enough friend of Mildred's for him to have thought he ought to bother to tell me he couldn't find him," she thought.
Miss Walton looked at him curiously as they began to descend the hill to the house. She evidently did not understand his remark, coupled with his manner. As they approached the barn there was great excitement among the poultry. Passing round its angle, Walter saw coming toward them a quaint-looking old woman, in what appeared to be a white scalloped nightcap.
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