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Updated: May 24, 2025
O'Brien," Terence said. "Who cares what they do? It's what men do that counts. I'll tell you a story now." So Mrs. O'Brien and Kathleen listened to Terence's story. "There was three men," Terence began, "that lived near together, and their names was Hudden and Dudden and Donald. Each one of them had an ox that he'ld be ploughing with. Donald was a cleverer man than the others and he got on better.
"Well, I'll be on deck in a moment, my boy," rejoined Thompson, who was now quite himself again, and was busy putting on his shoes, the only articles which had been removed when he turned in. "Go you up, and see that they keep her clean, full and bye and those casks well secured. Dudden Sands awkward place, too but I've not been forty years a-boxing about this coast for nothing."
As for Donald, you may be sure his leave wasn't asked, but he was lumped down at the inn door for all the world as if he had been a sack of potatoes. "Sit still, you vagabond," said Dudden; "if we don't mind waiting, you needn't." Donald held his peace, but after a while he heard the glasses clink, and Hudden singing away at the top of his voice.
He returned home to his wife, and they set in order a feast; and that was a feast if ever there was one, oh son and brother. There was once upon a time two farmers, and their names were Hudden and Dudden. They had poultry in their yards, sheep on the uplands, and scores of cattle in the meadow-land alongside the river. But for all that they weren't happy.
But the Brown Lake was far, the road was dusty, Hudden and Dudden were sore and weary, and parched with thirst. There was an inn by the roadside. "Let's go in," said Hudden; "I'm dead beat. It's heavy he is for the little he had to eat." If Hudden was willing, so was Dudden.
"Goose-Gibbie, sir?" said my persevering friend, "Goose-Gibbie, whose ministry was fraught with such consequences to the personages of the narrative?" I am not quite positive as to the fate of Goose-Gibbie, but am inclined to think him the same with one Gilbert Dudden, alias Calf-Gibbie, who was whipped through Hamilton for stealing poultry."
And then Donald went home and looked after his cattle and his farm, and soon he made money enough to take the two farms that Hudden and Dudden had left, besides his own. "And that's the way," said Terence, "to get on in this world or any world. Get the better of them that's trying to get the better of you, and don't hope for any help from fairies or ghosts." "Terence," said Mrs.
"Thought you was going to show us something better than that show at the square!" piped in a small boy. "We have been swindled!" groaned Ham. "Somebody has tricked us," gasped Carl. "Oh, this is dreadful!" "What's the matter, boys?" asked Mr. Dudden, coming up, followed by Mr. Spink. "The box is full of -of rubbish, father!" "Somebody set off the things and put them back burnt up," added Ham.
"Well, here you are," said Dudden, for they were now come to the Brown Lake, and, unslinging the sack, they pitched it plump into the lake. "You'll not be playing your tricks on us any longer," said Hudden. "True for you," said Dudden. "Ah, Donald, my boy, it was an ill day when you borrowed my scales."
No sooner said than agreed, and it wasn't dark before Hudden and Dudden crept up to the little shed where lay poor Daisy trying her best to chew the cud, though she hadn't had as much grass in the day as would cover your hand. And when Donald came to see if Daisy was all snug for the night, the poor beast had only time to lick his hand once before she died.
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