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Updated: June 7, 2025
I'll meet 'e as you bid me, an' nothin' shall ever keep me from 'e now nothing!" "'T is well said, Phoebe; an' doan't let that anointed scamp kiss 'e more 'n he must. Be braave an' cunnin', an' keep Miller from smelling a rat. I'd like to smash that man myself now wheer he stands, Grimbal I mean, but us must be wise for the present.
When all's said, us knaws the Lard Hissel weer mighty easy wi' the like o' she, an' worser wenches tu. But Michael God A'mighty knaws he won't be easy. She'm a damned wummon, I s'pose, but she's got to live through 'er life here damned or saved; an' she's got a thousand pound to do't with. A terrible braave dollop o' money, sure 'nough.
Tregagle weer a braave time doin' that, I can 'sure 'e, but theer comed a gert frost wan winter, an' he got water from the brook an' poured it 'pon the truss o' sand, so it froze hard. Then he carried it up Carn Olva; an' then, bein' a free spirit agin, he flew off quicker'n lightning to that lyin' man to tear en to pieces this time.
She relapsed into motionless silence and, herself now wholly tearless, watched the tears of Chris, who had sunk down on the floor between the mother and son. "Why for do you cry an' wring your hands so hard?" she asked suddenly. "You'm awnly a girl yet young an' soft-cheeked wi' braave bonny eyes. Theer'll be many a man's breast for you to comfort your head on. But me!
How can you say it?" "I do say it. We 'm awnly used to keep up the breed, then thrawed o' wan side. I'm sick o' men an' women folks. Theer's too many of 'em." "But childer our li'l Will. The moosic of un be sweeter than song o' birds all times, an' you'd be fust to say so if you wasn't out of yourself." "He 'm a braave, small lad enough; but theer again!
Yet I've knawed even Parsons to make mistakes. I've brought 'e a braave bunch o' berries, got by the gracious gudeness of Miller from Newton Abbot; also a jelly; also a bottle o' brandy the auld stuff from down cellar I brushed the Dartmoor dew, as 't is called, off the bottle myself; also a fowl for the missis." "No call to have come. 'T is all awver bar the end."
"How's your son, Matthew?" he inquired of the middle-aged man, putting the square paper with its contents into his hand. "He's braave, sir. The doctor do say he'll be about again in a week." Matthew crumpled up his account-current notes, gold, silver, copper and all in his huge brown hand, and, thrusting the whole into his breeches pocket, said "Thank 'ee," and walked away.
But the green fields swam and the sea danced for her a moment later. The world was all splashed and blotched and misty. "I'll be braave like him," she thought, smothering the great sobs and rubbing her knuckles into her eyes till she hurt them.
Although the Braave had vanished, she had left behind her a small legacy of annoyance for me; for while I was still searching the horizon for some sign of her continued existence I became aware of certain raucous sounds issuing from the forecastle, which I was quickly able to identify as the maudlin singing which seamen are so prone to indulge in when they are the worse for liquor.
Not ten hours later, while yet some irritation at the beekeeper's spleen troubled Blanchard's thoughts as he laboured upon his land, a voice saluted him from the highway and he saw a friend. "An' gude-marnin' to you, Martin. Another braave day, sure 'nough. Climb awver the hedge. You'm movin' early. Ban't eight o'clock."
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