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"Would two hundred a year be too much?..." "I'll spare you two hundred an' fifty!" "Thank you, father. It's awfully good of you!" "Ah, wheesht with you! Sure, why wouldn't a man be good to his own son. I suppose now you want to hear what I think of your book?" Henry smiled self-consciously. "Yes, I should like to know your opinion of it. I thought at first you didn't think much of it.
"I will, Sheila, I will!" "Ah, wheesht with you. What good 'ud a man like you be to a girl like me. I'll have this farm when my Uncle Matt dies, an' what use 'ud you be on it, will you tell me, you that runs away cryin' from a frightened horse?" "You could sell the farm!..." "Sell the farm!" she exclaimed. "Dear bless us, boy, what are you sayin' at all?
"No, Dan, I'm not but Billie can't a-bear meat underdone, so it's better to blacken the outside than have the inside raw." "Who iss that singing? Wheesht, boys," said Fergus McKay, turning his head a little on one side as if to listen. There was profound silence for a few moments as a rich manly voice was heard to swell forth from the neighbourhood of one of the camp-fires.
He looked around the room as if dazed. "It's true, then!" he cried in a harsh whisper, "it's true." His eyes were fixed unmeaningly on the elder. "He was more than a father to me; and I murdered him," he added distinctly. Andrew Johnstone rose stiffly and came over to where the boy stood. "Wheesht, Donald!" he whispered in alarm. "Wheesht, lad, it is the Lord's will!"
"The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel," groaned Mr. Duncan. Mary wrung her hands "Oh, spare my father!" she cried. "Wheesht, Mary!" said the old man; "as soon wad a camel pass through the eye o' a needle, as ye wad find compassion in the hands o' these men!" "Bind the girl and the preacher together," said the sergeant.
"What's up?" he asked. "Wheesht!" she replied, and then added, "D'ye hear anything?" He listened for a moment or two, and then said, "Yes, it sounds like a horse gallopin'...." They listened again, and then she proceeded. "You'd near think it was runnin' away," she said. The sound of hooves rapidly beating the ground and the noise of quickly-revolving wheels came nearer.
"If men," said the gypsy, severely, "would keep their hands in their pockets all day, the world's affairs would be more easily managed." "Wheesht!" cried Nanny, "if Mr. Dishart cared to set his mind to it, he could make the kettle boil quicker than you or me. But his thochts is on higher things." "No higher than this," retorted the gypsy, holding her hand level with her brow. "Confess, Mr.
"Wheesht!" whispered my grandfather, inclining his ear in the direction of the parlour door. We all listened, but it was nothing. Not a murmur. "They will be writing something some bond or deed, most likely." "They are long about it," said William Lyon uneasily. The silence endured and still endured till an hour was passed. My grandfather fidgeted in his chair.
"Wheesht!" he said sternly. "Nane shall pray for the deid on my hearth-stane." I disclaimed a Popish sense for my ejaculation; and he seemed to accept my disclaimer with unusual facility, and ran on once more upon what had evidently become a favourite subject. "We fand her in Sandag Bay, Rorie an' me, and a' thae braws in the inside of her.
Ay, yer sang's the sang o' an angel For a sinfu' thrapple no meet, Like the pipes til a heavenly braingel Whaur they dance their herts intil their feet! But though ye canna behaud, birdie, Ye needna gar a'thing wheesht! I'm noucht but a herplin herdie, But I hae a sang i' my breist!
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