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He saw his own name; read the story of how the stranger had eclipsed his feat by putting six bullets into the can. He dropped the page to the rock and looked up at Miss Radford with a short laugh. "So that's what you're writin'?" he sneered. "You're writin' somethin' that really happened.
Folks think he just courted her one spell that summer, not real serious, just to pass the time away, you might say, like many another young man. Mrs. Hikes says, she never heard of him writin' to her, or anything, 'n' if he had, old Hawkins that brings the mail couldn't have kep' it, any more'n he could keep the news he reads off postal cards.
As Orme walked up the two or three steps, she stretched her hand over her husband's shoulder and snatched the bill, examining it closely by the lamplight. "What's this writin' on it?" she demanded, fiercely. "Oh, that's just somebody's joke. It doesn't hurt anything." "Well, I don't know." She looked at it doubtfully, then crumpled it tight in her fist. "I guess it'll pass.
Sometimes she'll give you fair and square writin', and then again she'll slat the letters down every which way, and you've got to hunt 'em out for yourself. Here's a B I've got. That begins along pretty early in the alphabet. Let's see what we can find next." Westover fancied he could make out an F and a T.
And that's what made me allays like to get a chance to sort the letters, or hand 'em out." "You never saw many letters of mine," said Diana, turning away to hide her lips, which she felt were growing strange. But she must speak; she must know more. "N o," said Miss Collins; "not letters o' your writin, ef you mean that." "Letters of mine of any sort. I don't get many letters."
This room will be stocked with the latest books, magazines and papers; there will be tables with writin' material and sich stuff, if a feller wants to write to his girl, you know, and the room in there will be fixed with easy chairs and sofas for them that wants to talk er play games, er have a good time generally.
She took the paper awkwardly, and scanned it with painful embarrassment. "I can't read the writin'," she said, handing it back. "Will ye tell me what it says?" "Oh, I can't, I can't, Tessibel! I am so ashamed, so miserable!" Tess silently handed the paper to Professor Young; then she slipped forward and stood close to Frederick, rapidly considering his face with forgiving eyes.
There was a piece of a Halifax newspaper, an empty bottle, and a small tin can containing matches. The box of matches he put into his pocket. They had been lost or overlooked, and no hunter of the Bay or Indian would ever have been guilty of such carelessness. Of this Jamie had no question. "'Tis sure the rock the writin' tells about," he commented.
"'Ah! he said, slowly turning his eyes towards me. 'Well! If you was writin' to her, p'raps you'd recollect to say that Barkis was willin', would you?" This is a model of caution in the art of middle-aged love-making. The mistake of the "Northern Farmer" was that he applied the same middle-aged caution to youth.
What have ye got yer hand so close to that gun for? Take a shot at me if you want go on, take a shot at old Thirkle, if ye're that game." "Only a habit o' mine, keepin' my gun well for'ard, Thirkle," whimpered Petrak, shivering. "I have to keep a close eye on the writin' chap, Thirkle. No offence, I hope." "Look lively now, lad," said Thirkle, turning amiable again, but only to reassure Petrak.
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