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Updated: June 10, 2025
"Becca! will you never hear me?" cried the voice of Aunt Wimple; "here I am toiling after you till I am out of breath for Heaven's sake, stop!" And smiling, red in the face, panting Aunt Wimple drew near and bowed pleasantly to Jacques, who only groaned, and murmured: "One more chance gone ah!" As for Belle-bouche, she was blushing like a rose.
"Weel, weel," said Mattha, "they do say as theer's no fools like auld fools. Why, the lad's ram'lin'. Canst hear? ram'lin'. Wadst hev us keck him intil the dike to die like ony dog?" "Take him away, take him away," cried 'Becca, retiring inwards, her importunity becoming every moment louder and more vehement.
Clemens referred to is my mother was my mother. And here is another extract from a Hannibal paper. Of date twenty days ago: Miss Becca Blankenship died at the home of William Dickason, 408 Rock Street, at 2.30 o'clock yesterday afternoon, aged 72 years. The deceased was a sister of "Huckleberry Finn," one of the famous characters in Mark Twain's Tom Sawyer.
"That's done the trick!" he whispered to 'Becca. It was indeed a splendid advertisement of the charms of Robert. When the young girl came out she was pale and trembling, and a crowd was round the tent. "What was it like?" asked a farm-hand. "Oh! horrid! you wouldn't believe," she said. "It's as big as a barn, and that fierce. It froze the blood in my bones.
Clemens referred to is my mother WAS my mother. And here is another extract from a Hannibal paper, of date twenty days ago: Miss Becca Blankenship died at the home of William Dickason, 408 Rock Street, at 2.30 o'clock yesterday afternoon, aged 72 years.
"Becca cam frae Kilspindie Castle near thirty year syne, and John's took the bukes aboot the same time; they've agreed no that ill for sic a creetical poseetion a' that time, him oot an' her in, an' atween them the Doctor's no been that ill-servit; they micht hae lat weel alane.
"I know," said Cyril briskly, and he went to the door, outside which Bill was smoking a clay pipe and talking in a low voice to 'Becca. Cyril heard him say "Good as havin' a fortune left you." "Look here," said Cyril, "you can let people come in again in a minute. He's nearly finished tea. But he must be left alone when the sun sets.
At the same instant a boy came out of the back of the tent past 'Becca, posted there as sentinel. "I'm off after the corn," said this boy also. And he, too, moved away quietly and was lost in the crowd. The front-door boy was Cyril; the back-door was Robert now, since sunset, once more his proper size. They walked quickly through the field, along the road, where Robert caught Cyril up.
Rebecca went on with her dinner in silence; even capable men had weaknesses somewhere, and she was accustomed to those moralisings. "A 'm the auldest beadle in the Presbytery o' Muirtown though a' say it as sudna an' the higher the place the mair we 'll hae tae answer for, Becca. Nae man can hold the poseetion a 'm in withoot anxieties.
When she heard what sick guest they had brought her, she trembled from head to foot, and cried to them not to shorten the life of a poor old soul whose days were numbered. "Nay, nay; take him away, take him away," she said. "Art daft, or what dusta mean?" said Mattha from his seat in the cart. "Nay, but have mercy on me, have mercy on me," cried 'Becca beseechingly.
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