Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 18, 2025
"You're an affectionate little snooks, aren't you?" Donald commented. "Do you live here?" "Yes, sir." "Somebody's been teaching you manners. Whose little boy are you?" "Muvver's." "And who might mother be?" "Nan Brent." "Yo-ho! So you're Nan Brent's boy! What's your name?" "Donald Brent." "No; that isn't it, son. Brent is your mother's name. Tell me your father's name." "Ain't got no farver."
"He is that!" said Sheridan, adding, as if confidentially: "I got a fine family, Mr. Farver fine chuldern. I got a daughter now; you take her and put her anywhere you please, and she'll shine up with ANY of 'em. There's culture and refinement and society in this town by the car-load, and here lately she's been gettin' right in the thick of it her and my daughter-in-law, both.
I ain't got nobody but you 'ere farver." "Well, then," said Beale more gently, "what do you go settin' of yourself up agin me for?" "I ain't," said Dickie. "I thought you liked me to tell you everythink." Silence. Dickie could not help noticing the dirty shirt, the dirty face, the three days' beard, the filthy clothes of his friend, and he thought of his other friend, Sebastian of the Docks.
"Well, and what's your name?" said Harold laughingly. "Aurora and Roy. I belong to Sybyller, and got to tell you somesing." "Have you? Let's hear it." "Sybyller says you's Mr Beecher; when you're done tea, you'd like me if I would to 'scort you to farver and the boys, and 'duce you." Mother laughed. "That's some of Sybylla's nonsense.
The other children called him "pa," as was the universal custom in the village. But Draxy even in her babyhood had never once used the word. Until she was seven or eight years old she called him "Farver;" after that, always "father dear." Then Reuben would wake Jane up, sighing usually, "Poor mother, how tired she is!"
Beale's open mouth and eyes more lobster-like than ever "I mean that's all right, farver, and you see it don't make any difference to me. I knows you're straight now, even if it didn't begin just like that. Let's get to bed, shan't us?" Mr. Beale dreamed that he was trying to drown Dickie in a pond full of stewed eels. Dickie didn't dream at all.
"You are patriot; so are they." "Well, I reckon you must be a pretty hot little patriot yourself, Mr. Farver!" Sheridan exclaimed, gaily. "You certainly stand up for your own town, if you stick to sayin' you'd rather live there than you would here. Yes, SIR! You sure are some patriot to say THAT after you've seen our city!
On Sunday morning she walked through Soho, past the people sitting on their doorsteps reading the sporting intelligence in the Sunday papers, with their larks in cages hung on nails, overhead, until she came to the church, and heard the singing inside, and saw chalked up on the walls the legend, "God bless the Farver!" "Strange charge against a clergyman!"
"Tell you all about it in the morning" were the last words of the redheaded one as he slouched out, and Dickie and Beale were left to finish the door-steps and drink the cold tea that had slopped into their saucers. When they went out Dickie said "What did he want, farver that redheaded chap?" Beale did not at once answer.
Beale begged of all likely foot-passengers, but he noted that the "nipper" no longer "stuck it on." For the most part he was quite silent. Only when Beale appealed to him he would say, "Farver's very good to me. I don't know what I should do without farver." And so at last they came to New Cross again, and Mr.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking