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Updated: June 26, 2025
"The stock have gone far enough," he said. "You'll stay here to-night." Flett looked doubtful, though it was obvious that he wished to remain. He was a young, brown-faced man, and his smart khaki uniform proclaimed him a trooper of the Northwest Mounted Police. "The trouble is that I'm a bit late on my round already," he protested. "That's soon fixed," said Grant.
A couple of brown-faced heralds came aboard first and announced the approach of the mighty chief. Captain Perry went forward to greet the sheik as he came over the side of the ship, but he was brushed aside by the advance guards. Half a hundred swarthy fellows crowded aboard and then came the sheik, the personification of pomp and pride. "Where is she?" he asked in his native tongue.
Here and there a bonny lass had crept into the shade with her basin; and there was many a brown-faced man, who had been hardened by working upon the moor or at the "stone-yard." "Theer, thae's shap't that at last, as how?" said one of these to his friend, who had just finished and stood wiping his mouth complacently. Five hundred people breakfast in the sheds alone, every day.
In a minute it all had happened. Just how, no one knew. An agonized scream from the little maid, Anita, who was walking behind them, a momentary sight of the tiny, brown-faced Italian boy, her brother, right in the pathway of the swinging car as it rounded the curve Malcom's spring and then the boy and himself lying out on the roadside against the wall.
Sometimes by hayfields, each an idyl in itself, with white-sleeved mowers all arow; the pleasant sound of whetted scythes; great loads rumbling up lanes, with brown-faced children shouting atop; rosy girls raising fragrant winrows or bringing water for thirsty sweethearts leaning on their rakes.
Weeks and her daughter Addie were somewhat breathless by the time they had pushed their way through the heavy white sand to the spot where the stranger, was cooking. The spider contained only a few very small fish. "Good-morning," said Mrs. Weeks, pleasantly. The brown-faced woman who held the spider lifted her eyes and nodded. "Have you been fishing?" asked Mrs. Weeks.
One thing at least they knew, for their comfort, that there had been no talk of torture.... It was a full couple of minutes before the door opened to show them a thin, brown-faced man, with his sleeves rolled up, dressed over his shirt and hose in a kind of leathern apron. He nodded as he saw the ladies, with an air of respect, however, and stood aside to let them come in.
And now I've got money, I must have friends; for when I hadn't, ye know, my friends seemed against me, and now I have, it's the world that does, where'll I hide it? Oh, dear! now I'm with you, I don't mind, though this brown-faced forr'ner servant of yours, he gives me shivers. Can he understand English? becas I've got ut all in my pockut!" Merthyr sighed wearily for release.
"These English Johnnies who come out here, and whom one knows nothing about, are now and again slippery fish," gruffly spoke the brown-faced one. "Watch it, Lilith." "I thought this one looked as if he might be interesting," said another of the blue-eyed girls. "Pity he wasn't staying a day or two. We might have got him out to the house and seen what he was made of."
He wore an overcoat that she had never seen before, and a tall hat; he had got rid of the white hair and beard, and had even shaved off his whiskers; he remained a lean, brown-faced, resolute-looking man, more refined, but decidedly more commonplace, than he had been before. This man would pass easily in a crowd; people used to stop and gaze after Reuben Dare.
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