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He said it was Beek, whose home was a great way off, and that he was so old that the sea and the land were not so old as he. "If this old man has made all things, why do not all things bow down to him?" My slave gave a grave look, and said, "All things say 'O' to him." "Where do the men in your land go when they die?" "All go to Beek."
'Most everybody was getting cars, and Lord Beaconsfield, good Old Beek, was getting slower each year and could no longer keep up even with our deliberate progress. Furthermore, I learned to drive the car, in time.
How friendly Westbury's lights looked when we crossed the bridge by the mill and turned into the drive, and what gracious comfort there was in his bright fire and warm, waiting supper. We did not go up the hill that night. Good Old Beek found rest and food and society in Westbury's big red barn. The difficulty was to get busy
The brook, the barn, Old Beek, and Mis' Cow all had their uses then also a tent in the yard, a swing, hammock and whatnot. When God made the country He made it especially for children. Burning suns, a weedy garden and potato blight may dismay the old, but such things do not fret the young mind.
"Hoo d'ye think that?" said Ribekka. "Cause it wudda lookit so fine Izik an' Ribekka, d'ye see?" an' they nickered an' leuch like a' that. "An' I wudda been Ribekka at the wall," said Beek. "Exackly," said Jeems; "altho' this auld pump's hardly the kind o' wall they had in thae days. I hope there's nae horn-gollochs aboot it."
My bonnie dooie! Gude-nicht, my ain scentit geranum," says Jeems. I began to be akinda waumish, d'ye ken. The haivers o' the two spooney craturs juist garred me feel like's I'd taen a fizzy drink or something. You ken what I mean the kind o' a' ower kittlie feelin' that's like to garr you screech, ye dinna ken hoo. "Gude-nicht, Jeems," says Beek again. "I'll never luve onybody but you."
"No, Okes go up to Beek, not young mans." "What do Okes say to him?" "They say 'O." Now that I brought my man Friday to know that Beek was not the true God, such was the sense he had of my worth, that I had fears lest I should stand in the place of Beek.
"Yes, that's lovely," Susan said, but Miss Baker accepted the words and not the tone, and went on to innocent narratives of Lily, Beek and the little Marguerite. "And now, I wonder what a really good, conscientious woman would do," thought Susan in the still watches of the night. Go home to Auntie, of course.
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