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And a funny little incident occurs. Miss Fairweather remarks to the Little'un that she thinks she has met him before; in Auckland, probably. Either she is mistaken, or, the Little'un has forgotten, and is shamefaced. He blushes the colour of beet-root.
Fairweather had been dyspeptic and low-spirited of late, and was too languid for controversy. The Reverend Doctor Honeywood had been very busy with his benevolent associations, and had discoursed chiefly on practical matters, to the neglect of special doctrinal subjects.
I sought long for details; nor was I by any means successful till I fell in with a man named Aminadab Fairweather, a resident at the Scouring Burn, in Dundee, who was in the habit of frequenting Logie House, and who, though very old, remembered many of the circumstances.
Fairweather, was the natural adviser of the parties most interested. Had he sense and spirit enough to deal with such people?
Diggs had recovered his urbanity. "She is the same Miss Fairweather, sir. I recognise her from your description. It may interest you to hear, sir, that she acted just as queerly as you when I told her that you " "What did you tell her?" demanded Flanders, seeing that Diggs hesitated. "That you had a scar on your thumb, sir. By the way, HAVE you?" "I have!" exclaimed the young man.
It was her recently formed opinion that one can never trust an actress, no matter how closely she is watched or how frankly she looks you in the eye while you are watching. Mr. Bingle called Miss Fairweather and the good-looking Flanders into his study a few days before the time set for her departure.
Fairweather had been settled in the place only about ten years, and, if he had heard a strange hint now and then about Elsie, had never considered it as anything more than idle and ignorant, if not malicious, village-gossip.
The atmosphere seems pale and hazy, though around to the north and northeastward of Fairweather innumerable white peaks are displayed, the highest fountain-heads of the Muir Glacier crowded together in bewildering array, most exciting and inviting to the mountaineer. Altogether I have had a delightful day, a truly glorious celebration of the fourth. July 6.
Has has the case finally gone against me?" "Who is going to be married in the spring?" demanded Force, wiping his brow. "Miss Fairweather. I thought you knew." "Oh, the devil! Of course not! What do I know about Miss Fairweather's affairs?" "Flanders is the man. He's the lucky dog. An old affair, Force. Tremendously romantic story back of " "Needn't mind, Bingle.
The "peace," the "rest," which he had purchased were dearly bought to one who had been trained to the arms of thought, and whose noble privilege it might have been to live in perpetual warfare for the advancing truth which the next generation will claim as the legacy of the present. The Reverend Mr. Fairweather was getting careless about his sermons.
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