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Bide here th' night, can't un?" urged Richard. "I were sayin' t' Mr. MacDonald as I'd be back t' th' post th' day, so promisin' I has t' go." "Aye, an' un promised, though I were hopin' t' have un bide th' night." "When'll I be comin' for un, Bessie?" asked Tom. "Oh, Bessie must be bidin' a long time," plead Emily. "I've been wishin' t' have she so much. Please be leavin' she a long time."
Mine'll rip holes through you the size of walnuts. 'Niver fear; it's me own slugs smell their way with soft noses, an' they'll spread like flapjacks against the coming out beyand. An' when'll I have the pleasure of waitin' on ye? The waterhole's a strikin' locality. ''Tain't bad.
She was obliged to invent excuses to "fub off," when she could neither consent nor refuse. So, when Abel used to cling about her, crying, "Mother dear, when'll I be put t'help father in the mill? Do 'ee ask un to let me come in now! I be able to sweep 's well as Gearge.
Jean listened unemotionally and with a judicial air. Only his eyes shoved that he was in any way moved. When she had finished he asked her, "An' when'll he git here?" "Can't say," came the swift reply. "Maybe to-night; maybe in an hour; maybe right now. He's big an' strong, an' an' he's mad, I know it." And a shudder of apprehension passed over her frame. "Fer Victor? Sure?"
Pollyooly hesitated; she was still taken aback by the young man's lack of the formidable largeness Flossie had led her to expect; and she was, besides, a very truthful child. Then she said: "I expect he's somewhere in Chelsea." "When'll he be back?" snapped the young man. "He's generally in to tea," with less hesitation; and she looked at him with very limpid eyes. "He is, is he?
"Poor pussy, she has turned white white all over!" "You don't mean to say that was Fly Clifford?" cried Prudy. "Shut her up, auntie," said Dotty Dimple; "she's a kitty. I always knew her name was Kitty." Fly ran and courtesied before the mirror in her nightie. "O, Kitty Clifford, Kitty Clifford," she cried, "when'll you be a cat?"
Ford, "and yet you didn't seem much pleased when your father gave you the book on your birthday." "Well, I didn't care much about it then, but Fred King says it is the best story that ever was, and he ought to know; he rides to school in an automobile. Say, when'll you read it to me? Do it now, won't you?" "If what?" corrected Mrs. Ford. "Oh, if you please. You know I always mean it."
"I'm afraid I'm a great deal of trouble to you all," said Dexter, as he sat back, supported by a pillow, and looking very white, while from time to time he raised a bunch of Dan'l's choicest flowers to his nose. "Trouble? Tchah! And, look here! master said you was to have as much fruit as you liked. When'll you have another bunch o' grapes!"
Go on thinking about it, and tell me when you've made up your mind. When'll dinner be ready?" "Half an hour," said Gertie. "Well, I'll go out for a bit and look round." He took up the letter carelessly and went out. As he passed the window Gertie glanced towards it with the corner of her eye. Then, frying-pan still in hand, she crept up to the angle and watched him go down the quay.
"Perhaps it'll come to you later. You've a good memory generally for such things. Anyway, I can't tell you anything now. But when'll you come again? To-morrow luncheon? I really want you." "Would you be alone?" "Certainly. That, at least, I can still do lunch as I please, and with whom I please. Who is this coming in? Ah, you needn't tell me."
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